Here the assiduous tumults that burden thy life but resemble the distant humming of bees.
We feel ourselves to be listening for the poet, and would fain with him enjoy the fresh air, the soothing calm,
While Hesperus over the waters broadens his rosy face.
And the waves are lapping the shore.
In the glimpses afforded, in this poem, of Garda lifting her dusky shoulders over the liquid mirror,
Singing the while a saga of cities ancient and buried,
And their barbaric kings;
of Catullus,
Mooring all day long to the wet rocks his pitched canoe
And watching in the phosphorescent waves the eyes of his Lesbia;