ON THE TERRACE OF THE AIGALADES
BY JOSEPH MERY
From this high portal, where upsprings The rose to touch our hands in play, We at a glance behold three things— The Sea, the Town, and the Highway.
And the Sea says: My shipwrecks fear; I drown my best friends in the deep; And those who braved icy tempests, here Among my sea-weeds lie asleep!
The Town says: I am filled and fraught With tumult and with smoke and care; My days with toil are overwrought, And in my nights I gasp for air.
The Highway says: My wheel-tracks guide To the pale climates of the North; Where my last milestone stands abide The people to their death gone forth.
Here, in the shade, this life of ours, Full of delicious air, glides by Amid a multitude of flowers As countless as the stars on high;
These red-tiled roofs, this fruitful soil, Bathed with an azure all divine, Where springs the tree that gives us oil, The grape that giveth us the wine;
Beneath these mountains stripped of trees, Whose tops with flowers are covered o'er, Where springtime of the Hesperides Begins, but endeth nevermore;