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 | Amours De Voyage |  |
THERE is a city, upbuilt on the quays of the turbulent Arno,
Under Fiesole's heights,—thither are we to return?
There is a city that fringes the curve of the inflowing waters,
Under the perilous hill fringes the beautiful bay,—
Parthenope do they call thee?—the Siren, Neapolis, seated
Under Vesevus's hill,—thither are we to proceed?—
Sicily, Greece, will invite, and the Orient;—or are we to turn to
England, which may after all be for its children the best?
Under Fiesole's heights,—thither are we to return?
There is a city that fringes the curve of the inflowing waters,
Under the perilous hill fringes the beautiful bay,—
Parthenope do they call thee?—the Siren, Neapolis, seated
Under Vesevus's hill,—thither are we to proceed?—
Sicily, Greece, will invite, and the Orient;—or are we to turn to
England, which may after all be for its children the best?
| Amours De Voyage | |