Large purple grapes hang thickly clustering;
The fig-tree near, with ample leaves displayed,
Shelters its sweet, cool fruit beneath their shade.
Still hang the oranges upon their stems,
Whose dark green foliage makes them glow like gems.
The cypresses by yonder convent wall
Shoot up as freshly green, as stately tall,
And there the drowsy vesper-bell ne’er tires
Calling to prayers the brown-robed, bearded friars.
Down on the beach, content with slender gain,