LXXXVIII
As, on a morn, a traveller might emerge
From the deep green seclusion of the hills,
By a cool road through forest and through fern,
Little frequented, winding, followed long
With joyous expectation and day-dreams, 5
And on a sudden, turning a great rock
Covered with frondage, dark with dripping water,
Behold the seaboard full of surf and sound,
With all the space and glory of the world
Above the burnished silver of the sea,— 10
Even so it was upon that first spring day
When time, that is a devious path for men,
Led me all lonely to thy door at last;
And all thy splendid beauty, gracious and glad,
(Glad as bright colour, free as wind or air, 15
And lovelier than racing seas of foam)
Bore sense and soul and mind at once away
To a pure region where the gods might dwell,
Making of me, a vagrant child before,
A servant of joy at Aphrodite’s will. 20
LXXXIX
Where shall I look for thee,
Where find thee now,
O my lost Atthis?
Storm bars the harbour,
And snow keeps the pass 5
In the blue mountains.
Bitter the wind whistles,
Pale is the sun,
And the days shorten.
Close to the hearthstone, 10
With long thoughts of thee,
Thy lonely lover
Sits now, remembering
All the spent hours
And thy fair beauty. 15
Ah, when the hyacinth
Wakens with spring,
And buds the laurel,