XXXVI
“O! palagio d’Ilio, in alta stanza—”
Gabriele d’Annunzio
I’m grateful for that sonnet that you read
With such a thrill of voice I seemed to see
The laughing Cyclades again, gayly
Ships slipping down the shining wind’s roadstead
That sweeps to Troy. ’Twas like a frame you said,
That sonnet in the tongue of Italy,
To frame one fine last line, clean-chiselled, free—
The love-night of two lovers long since dead.
Helen, the white loved one, it said, grieved not
Nor evermore of Greece, home, kindred, thought,
The while the ship sped on. There rose to mind,
Like visions of the day unto the blind,
A room wherein rich gems Love’s luster shed
Upon a cedar-wrought, gold, gleaming bed.