The lisp of Baiæ’s phosphorescent foam;
And Venice like a bubble made of dew,
A shell transfigured with the rainbow’s hue;
The Appian Way beneath a sullen sky,
(The shepherd’s pipe is like a seagull’s cry)
And in a silver rift, eternal Rome.
SEVILLE
The orange blossoms in the Alcazar,
Where roses and syringas are in flower;
The blinding glory of the morning hour;
The eyes that gleam behind a twisted bar;
The women on the balconies,—a smile;
The barrel-organs, and the blazing heat;
The awning hanging high across the street;
A dark mantilla in a sombre aisle.
A fountain tinkling in a shady court;
The gold arena of the bull-ring’s feast;
The coloured crowd acclaiming perilous sport;
The sudden silence when they hold their breath,
While the torero gently plays with death,
And flicks the horns of the tremendous beast.
GREECE
The Spring had scattered poppies on the land,
The Spring was saying her secret to the breeze;
In the translucent shallows of green seas,
A fisherman, a trident in his hand,
Was casting shining fishes to the sand,
And wading in the water to his knees;
And still I hear the crickets and the bees,
The hidden hoofs, the ringing saraband.
I see the temples above the breaking foam,
The pillars pink as dawn in the silver dust;
The Parthenon at sunset large and dim,
Smouldering against the purple mountain’s crust;
And far away on the ocean’s blazing rim,
The phantom ship that brought Ulysses home.