Only a laurel tree
Shall shade the grave of me,
Only Apollo's bough
Shall guard me now!
Now shall I be at rest
Among the spirits blest,
The happy dead that dwell -
Where,--who may tell?
The snow and wind and hail
May never there prevail,
Nor ever thunder fall
Nor storm at all.
But always fadeless there
The woods are green and fair,
And faithful ever more
Spring to that shore!
There shall I ever hear
Alcaeus' music clear,
And sweetest of all things
There SAPPHO sings.
SAN TERENZO
(The village in the bay of Spezia, near which Shelley was living
before the wreck of the Don Juan.)
Mid April seemed like some November day,
When through the glassy waters, dull as lead,
Our boat, like shadowy barques that bear the dead,
Slipped down the long shores of the Spezian bay,
Rounded a point,--and San Terenzo lay
Before us, that gay village, yellow and red,
The roof that covered Shelley's homeless head, -
His house, a place deserted, bleak and grey.
The waves broke on the door-step; fishermen
Cast their long nets, and drew, and cast again.
Deep in the ilex woods we wandered free,
When suddenly the forest glades were stirred
With waving pinions, and a great sea bird
Flew forth, like Shelley's spirit, to the sea!
1880
ROMANCE
My Love dwelt in a Northern land.
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