I ask myself—Is this a dream?
Will it all vanish into air?
Is there a land of such supreme
And perfect beauty anywhere?
Sweet vision! do not fade away;
Linger until my heart shall take
Into itself the summer day
And all the beauty of the lake!”
I do not apologize for the long quotation. I offer it as a pendant to Buchanan Read’s “Drifting,” that brings before our closed eyes the unrivaled loveliness of the “Vesuvian Bay.” Both are inspired—I use the term reverently—word-paintings. Both excite within the soul of him who has seen Naples from Posilipo and Como from Cadenabbia, something of the sweet madness of poetic dreaming. It is all before us again with the melodious movement of the verse—even to such realistic touches as the trailing hand—
“Over the rail,