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?