The Gardens Of Falerina

Her hills and vales are dimmer Than sunset's shadowy shimmer; Thin mists, that curl, of poppy and pearl, Above her bowers glimmer; And, silvered o'er with sails of faery galleys, Far off the sea gleams, glimpsed through fountained valleys.

The moon floats never higher Than one white peak of fire; And in its beams pale Beauty dreams, And Music tunes her lyre; And, Siren-like, beside the moonlit waters, Fair Fancy sits singing with Memory's daughters.

A cloud, above and under The ocean, white with wonder, Looms, starry steep; and, opening deep, Grows gold with silent thunder; Revealing far within, immeasurable, Lost Avalons of old Romance and Fable.

Ah! could my spirit shatter These bonds of flesh and matter, And, at a word, mount like a bird To her through mists that scatter; And, raimented in love and inspiration, Look down on Earth from that exalted station:

No mortal might inveigle My soul, that, like an eagle, Would soar and soar from shore to shore Of her, the rare and regal; And by her love made all a lyric rapture, A wild desire, wing far beyond all capture.