This is a joyous trysting-place, my love,
With no inconstant climate to distract us;
Pure azure is the sky that laughs above
These admirable bowers of prickly cactus,
Where we may nestle, conjugating amo
(Dear old San Remo!).
We've had our difference, as lovers do;
A slight misunderstanding came between us;
But that is past; the sky (I said) is blue
And this the very sea that nurtured Venus;