  By woodland belt, by ocean bar, The full south breeze our forehead fanned; And, under many a yellow star, We dropped into the Magic Land. ***** We heard, far-off, the siren’s song; We caught the gleam of sea-maids’ hair; The glimmering isles and rocks among We moved through sparkling purple air. Then Morning rose, and smote from far Her elfin harps o’er land and sea; And woodland belt, and ocean bar To one sweet note sighed—“Italy!” Owen Meredith.
|
|
