January In The Tremezzina

Day by day, As if in May, We sail Azzano's beautiful bay; High and low The mountains show Luminous fields of stainless snow, But the air is soft, and the sun is warm, And the lake is free from wind and storm.

Far and nigh, Deep and high, The Alps invade both lake and sky; Base to base Their forms we trace, These in water, those in space,-- Duplicate peaks on single shores, As shadow sinks, and substance soars.

To and fro We idly go, Bidding our oarsmen lightly row; Here and there Halting where The vision seems supremely fair; Happy to let our little boat In a flood of opaline splendor float.

Far away Seems to-day The clamorous world of work and play; Ours indeed A different creed From that of the modern god of Speed, Whose converts suffer such grievous waste In strenuous labor and feverish haste!

East or west, A tranquil nest, When curfew rings, is always best, A landscape fair, A volume rare, And a kindred heart, one's peace to share,-- What is there better from life to take In a sweet retreat on the Larian lake?