Still drag their nets the red-capped fishermen.
Still glide the days as fair—the nights more cool,
The sea is still as ever beautiful;
And yonder purple mount, towering as proud
Still blends its light smoke with the flying cloud.
And now, ere I these pleasant scenes resign,
I would yet linger o’er and make them mine.
I would remember every odorous breeze
That wafted incense from these orange-trees—
The roses clustering on their leafy stalks,