Well might such sweet, transparent waters hold
Tritons and nymphs with locks of liquid gold;
For nothing were too beautiful to be
Born from the pure depths of this summer sea.
———
Four moons have passed—and nights and days have flown
Cloudless—a summer of an orient tone,
Since my unequal pen essayed to tell
Brief passages of what I loved so well.
Above me now, where blossoms fell in spring,