Classic Poem

VENICE

To come so soon to this imagined dark —
More velvet-deep than any midnight park!
Palaces hem me in with blind black walls;
The water is hushed for a voice that never calls.

My gondolier sways silently over his oar.

IN FRANCE

À St. Blaise, a la Zuecca! Oh, my dear,
Laugh your gentle laughter! This old land,
From Provence to Paris — never fear —
All the heart can feel will understand.

A small town, a white town,
A town for you and me —
With a little cafe in the square,
And schooners at the quay;
And the terrasse of a small hotel
That looks upon the sea!
There gay sounds and sweet sounds
And sounds of peace come through:
The cook sings in the kitchen,
The late ring-doves coo,
And Julien brings the Pernods
That are bad for me and you.

À St. Blaise, a la Zuecca! Oh, my dear,
Laugh your gentle laughter! This old land,
From Provence to Paris — never fear —
All the heart can feel will understand.

IN PICARDY

Waves lap the beach, pines stretch to meet the sea;
A pale light on the horizon lingers and shines,
That might shine round the Graal; and we
Stand very silent, underneath the pines.

O swift expresses for the spirit's flight!
Sometimes the moon is like a maid I know,
Looking roguishly back, and flying forward — so
I follow, flashing after. Blessed night!

VOYAGES

Do you remember, have you been these ways,
Dreaming or waking, after sunny days;
Sailed, in a moment, to imagined lands —
With one to love you, holding both your hands —
To old hot countries where the warm grape clings,
And a soft musical language strikes the ear
Like a caress, most exquisite to hear —
Your soul the voyager and your heart her wings?