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RiCORDO DiTALIA 
 
 BY 
 
 EDITH COLMAN GOURLIE 
 
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 COPYRIGHT 1916 BY 
 
 EDITH COLMAN GOURLIE 
 
 1 1^ 
 
 ©CI, A 4 53375 
 
 HFC 30 191 S 
 
"Per ogni ora che passa, un ricordo. 
 Per ogni ora che batte, una felicita. 
 Per ogni ora che viene, una speranza." 
 
 I DEDICATE THIS BOOK OF HAPPY HOURS 
 TO THE DEAR AUNT 
 FOR WHOM MY WISH IS ALWAYS 
 THAT WHETHER LOOKING INTO 
 THE CLOSED GARDEN OF THE PAST- 
 OR THROUGH THE WINDOW ON THE SEA 
 OF THE FUTURE-SHE MAY FIND IN EACH, 
 A HAPPINESS! 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 THE CLOSED GARDEN p^ 
 
 The Closed Garden 9 
 
 Love And Thought 10 
 
 Wings 11 
 
 Lights Of Venice 12 
 
 Gondolier's Love-Song 13 
 
 Painted Sails 14 
 
 Sands Of Dream 16 
 
 The Baby Of The "Madonna del Cardellino" 17 
 
 Treasures 18 
 
 Bells 19 
 
 To The City Over The Sea 20 
 
 Happy V/aters 21 
 
 The Steps From The Piazza di Spagna 25 
 
 The Bridge Of The Angels 26 
 
 Why? 27 
 
 A Garden Asleep 28 
 
 The Eternal City 30 
 
 Remembrance 32 
 
 The Road 33 
 
 Full Moon At Amalfi 35 
 
 Little White Garden 39 
 
 Secrets Of The Faraglioni 40 
 
 Capri — In Spring 43 
 
 The Lost Hours 44 
 
 THE WINDOW ON THE SEA 
 
 The March Of The Dolomites 49 
 
 To a Tyrolean River 51 
 
 The Border-Line 53 
 
 Flower-Fields 54 
 
 Monte Cristallo 55 
 
 The Window On The Sea 59 
 
THE CLOSED GARDEN 
 
 Per ogni oi^a obe passa, 
 un pioordo." 
 
THE CLOSED GARDEN 
 
 Softly there, the sunlight falls, 
 
 In that garden all may know; 
 
 Bright the space between the walls, 
 
 Where unfading flowers grow; 
 
 Owned by the Happy Past — those flowers — 
 
 (Sweet their breath!) — 
 Spirits of unforgotten hours, 
 
 That know not Death! 
 
 From our road without, we gaze 
 At those Joys that once have been; 
 Closed to us, the Yesterdays! 
 We may only look within — 
 "Until," the voice of the Happy Past 
 
 Whispers low, 
 "You too, become a part, at last, 
 
 Of Long Ago!" 
 
 Softly now, the sunlight falls 
 
 On those Joys that once have been; 
 
 Bright the space between the walls 
 
 We may only gaze within; 
 
 Safe with the Happy Past — those flowers! 
 
 (Sweet their breath!) 
 Spirits of unforgotten hours, 
 
 That know not Death! 
 
LOVE AND THOUGHT 
 
 I said to Love and Thought one day, 
 "Which of you two, can fleeter be, 
 And bear my heart to Italy?" 
 Swifter than lightning-flash at night, 
 Thought arose on strong, firm wings; 
 Love was gone in a gleam of light. 
 
 in an old-world city, far away. 
 
 Who is that, descends and clings 
 
 To a balcony on a yellow wall? 
 
 And softly folds her shining wings? 
 
 "Thy Thought," from far I hear her call, 
 
 "Thy Thought ami! Who more swiftly flown?" 
 
 — But who is this, so quietly 
 
 At rest upon the balcony? 
 
 Clasping a heart whose roots have grown 
 
 Around him where the sunlight falls 
 
 Deep, deep into the yellow walls? 
 
 "Thy Love am I!" he smiles, "and see! 
 
 Thou hadst left thy heart in Italy!" 
 
wmGS 
 
 Far, far the brown Campagna lies, 
 In other world, 'neath other skies — 
 But from this field, a wee bird springs, 
 And dips his way across the bare 
 Brown furrows; on the April air, 
 Peach-blossoms lift their rosy wings — 
 And lo! I've crossed the sea, and stand 
 Within the Unforgotten Land! 
 Surrounded by the Ancient Things! 
 
 II 
 
LIGHTS OF VENICE 
 
 To us who may in dreams, again behold 
 
 The "Stones of Venice," 'tis not these alone 
 
 That form her jewels — Wrought in every fold 
 
 Of her rich robes, are changing colors, blown 
 
 From lights of every radiance — sun's red gold. 
 
 And moon's pale silver; shining water, sown 
 
 With sapphires, pearls, as though the Sea unrolled 
 
 His glittering hoard of gems before her throne; 
 
 And lanterns, lit by men at eventide. 
 
 Are strung along low shores — as though the Sea 
 
 Should hold aloft the diamonds for his bride, 
 
 A-dream in his enraptured arms — while she 
 
 Sets rubies on dark water-ways, aglide, 
 
 And weaves his soul in nets of mystery. 
 
 With Romance comes the magic of the Night: 
 Each lantern, hanging late o'er wave-worn stair, 
 Shows golden tendrils curling out of sight — 
 And who but Venice owns that golden hair? 
 There, out of darkness, oars rise dripping bright! 
 There on the tide, float jewels none can wear! 
 And barges decked with rose-tree stands of light, 
 That sway like flowers in a wandering air, 
 And pass to music — (as a rose-tree ought!) 
 — And each thing might be other than it seems; 
 And every stone of thine with wonder's fraught. 
 For, Venice, 'tis with light a jewel gleams! 
 And 'tis with lights thy jewelled robes are wrought; 
 And crowned with lights we see thee in our dreams! 
 
GONDOLIER'S LOTE-SONG 
 
 Smooth as my gondola, gliding 
 Over the water to thee, 
 
 Would that my love could be guiding, guiding 
 Thy heart to me! 
 
 Swiftly as wavelets are fleeting 
 Back at the dip of the oar. 
 Swifter my heart it is beating, beating. 
 As nearer I draw. 
 
 Keen as my prow that is turning, 
 Around thy dark garden to swing. 
 Keener the wish, that with yearning, yearning, 
 From Shadow I sing: 
 
 Low at thy steps I am rocking, 
 — Quick at thy step I would start — 
 Soft at thy door I am knocking, knocking — 
 Open the door of thy heart! 
 
 13 
 
PAINTED SAILS 
 
 The Painted Sails arose at dawn, 
 
 To greet the rising sun, 
 
 That as in olden tournament, 
 
 Hung like a shield before the tent 
 
 Of knightly Day — the Unknown Day — 
 
 Whom they must meet in mortal fray, 
 
 Before their spurs be won. 
 
 — They touched their mast-heads on the shield, 
 
 And forth to sea they went. 
 
 O is it red with battle-stain. 
 
 Or flushed with victory, 
 
 The Painted Sails come home again. 
 
 Across a crimson sea? 
 
 The banners of the dying Day 
 
 Are torn, and far are blown; 
 
 His shield has fallen; Shadow dim, 
 
 And friendly Night will cover him. 
 
 The Painted Sails — O how fared they? 
 
 Since first they rose and sailed away 
 
 To challenge the Unknown? 
 
 O some be flushed with victory. 
 And some be battle-stained, 
 That proudly o'er the rosy sea. 
 Sweep home — each one an argosy 
 With spoils of Day, he gained! 
 But some at night returning, creep 
 Unearthly to the shore, 
 Like ghosts, or children in their sleep; 
 And some — return no more! 
 
 14 
 
Though all must dare the windy sea, 
 There's many a one who fails! 
 'Tis few may hear the prize away, 
 In combat with the Unknown Day — 
 Of all the Painted Sails! 
 
 But some at night who come to rest, 
 
 Wear noble battle-stains 
 
 More beautiful than cargoes 
 
 Of all the golden gains! 
 
 And some at dusk, returning faint, 
 
 If high at mast, they bear 
 
 Their pennants of the morning — 
 
 Still proud, and brave, and fair — 
 
 Will seek another combat, 
 
 And forth to sea, away! 
 
 Will rise again at dawning, 
 
 And challenge the New Day! 
 
 —Then rise, O Painted Sails! 
 
 IS 
 
SANDS OF DREAM 
 
 The golden sands lie far and wide; 
 For all to see, for all to own — 
 With them, the little children play; 
 And lovers, far on them, may stray; 
 
 And poets walk alone — 
 But grasp too closely in your hands. 
 Those golden sands — 
 
 They glide 
 
 away! 
 
 i6 
 
THE BABY OF THE "MADONNA DEL 
 CARDELLINO" 
 
 Oh! if I were the little bird, 
 To have His dear caress, 
 I'd break my heart with singing 
 For so much happiness! 
 
 And if I were the daisies 
 On which He fears to tread, 
 I'd weave a starry pillow 
 To bear His little head! 
 
 But could I be His Mother's foot, 
 Whereon His own doth press, 
 I'd weep! I'd weep to think that He 
 Should deign, should deign to lean on me! 
 
 17 
 
TREASURES 
 
 I'll show you a shell of a far blue sea, 
 Ringed in a magic foam — 
 And the name of the shell is "Italy," 
 And the song that it sings is "Rome." 
 
 And here is a drop of a fountain clear — 
 Or is it a tear-drop too? 
 But be it the fountain or the tear, 
 'Tis Rome that is shining through! 
 
 i8 
 
BELLS 
 
 How sweet, and slow, and far away, 
 The bell of San Giovanni rings 
 Across the dreams of Yesterday! 
 Its single note is like a song. 
 That all night long— all night long, 
 Still sings. 
 
 And I am far from Italy, 
 In this dear country that's my home, 
 But like a bell across the sea — 
 A bell whose single note's a song — 
 All day long — all day long, 
 Calls Rome! 
 
 i» 
 
TO THE CITY OVER THE SEA 
 
 Oh! can it be? 
 
 Are you still there, beyond the sea? 
 
 Still does the eucalyptus-tree 
 
 In the priests' garden, o'er the way, 
 
 Swing where the little fountain's spray 
 
 Laughs in the shadow or the light, 
 
 All day. 
 
 And sings all night? 
 
 — Who stands now, on my balcony? 
 
 And watches, as the sun goes down 
 
 Behind the pine-tree on the sky. 
 
 The silver mist float far, and partly veil the town, 
 
 The bats that fly, 
 
 The stars beside the darkening tower appear — 
 
 While I am here! 
 
HAPPY WATERS 
 
 (To all the fountains of Rome, 
 especially the little ones!) 
 
 Springing at the sunlight, 
 Laughing at the rain. 
 Chasing little shadows 
 With all your might and main. 
 Dancing through the day-time, 
 Singing through the night, 
 Happy Waters! ever 
 Scattering delight! 
 
 Coming from a cloud-land 
 
 In the far-off sky, 
 
 Travelling through darkness, 
 
 Leaping — bye and bye — 
 
 Forth in fairy gardens. 
 
 With water-nymphs to play. 
 
 Or from crowded centre 
 
 Of a great highway; 
 
 Merry little Waters! 
 
 Falling but to rise, 
 
 Tell me why the thought of you 
 
 Brings tears to the eyes! 
 
 Made of stars and rainbows — 
 As the life of men; 
 Flashing out of darkness 
 Into dark again; 
 Coming, who knows whence? 
 And going, none knows where! 
 Busy Happy Waters 
 Never need to care! 
 
Fleeting as the morning 
 With the dew impearled; 
 Old as are the ages 
 Of the ancient world; 
 Passing, ever passing 
 From the earth away, 
 Happy Waters! knowing 
 Change, but not decay! 
 
 What is all your passing 
 
 But a living sign 
 
 Of the Life Eternal — 
 
 Human and divine? 
 
 That is ever going 
 
 On to life anew, 
 
 Deathless — only knowing 
 
 Change as Life, like you! 
 
 — Yet, O Happy Waters! 
 
 Singing as you rise. 
 
 Tell me why the thought of you 
 
 Brings tears to the eyes! 
 
Pain I Up^VdrJ " 
 
THE STEPS FROM THE PIAZZA DI SPAGNA 
 
 Out of the old Piazza's life, ye rise, 
 
 Oh! Steps! — from where the fountain-waters play; 
 
 And seem, to one who climbs your slanting way, 
 
 The Years of Life that lead to Paradise. 
 
 Like Youth, your first low group, in flowers lies: 
 
 Branches of almond-blossom, flushed with day; 
 
 Bunches of little rosebuds — (fairer they!) — 
 
 Sunlit mimosa; dark-blue evening skies 
 
 Of Roman violets — Is it with tears 
 
 Or stars they shine? — As in this life of ours, 
 
 Let's count the climb worth while! and when one nears 
 
 Where Trinitk dei Monti's yellow towers 
 
 Point upward still, look back, as down the Years, 
 
 And there behold you, Steps, begun in flowers! 
 
THE BKIDGE OF THE ANGELS 
 
 Over the Bridge, all day there goes 
 The passing throng, of women and men, 
 Brown little children on pattering toes; 
 Under it all, the Tiber flows. 
 Only at night, the Bridge is bare, 
 Silent — but there, 
 Under it still the Tiber flows — 
 Only the Angels guard it then. 
 
 Spanning the Tiber's moving tide, 
 Along the Bridge, upon each hand. 
 From end to end, the Angels stand — 
 And many there are, for Tiber's wide! 
 The people pass between the rows; 
 And many a one unheeding goes; 
 But often a little child is there. 
 Who finds the Angels passing fair. 
 — And so they come to the Other Side! 
 
WHY? 
 
 Little mandarin-blossom, why- 
 Climb so high 
 Above the wall? 
 
 And breathe to me your faint, sweet perfume like a 
 
 sigh 
 That it's so tall? 
 
 Little dancing peach-tree, why 
 Clasp the sky 
 Within your fair 
 
 Sweet arms?— and when you've caught the blue, blush 
 
 rosily 
 To find it there! 
 
 Little brown-eyed baby, why 
 Do you cry 
 To be a man? 
 
 And then would give the world if it could childhood 
 
 buy! 
 Alas! who can? 
 
A GARDEN ASLEEP 
 
 Let us descend the stairway here — 
 The stairway down whose balustrade, 
 The waters ran; now, mosses grow 
 
 So close, so low, 
 Like mould upon the marble laid. 
 
 Here, where the many fountains played, 
 There rises now, a single stream — 
 
 A slender thread — 
 That stands and murmurs in a dream 
 
 Of summers dead. 
 
 As o'er a grave, the cypress-trees 
 Bend not in pity, with the breeze. 
 
 But point instead 
 
 To heaven, whose blue 
 Shines tenderly and softly through 
 Their guarding shade — For they are old, 
 And many things they've known and seen. 
 The garden pools are dark, and hold 
 No more the sunbeams' waving gold. 
 
 But cypress-green. 
 
 Though everywhere the mosses creep, 
 — All living flowers long have fled — 
 And their still watch, the cypress keep 
 Around this garden fast asleep. 
 
 Say not the Spirit here, is dead! 
 
 'Tis only laid 
 At rest here, in the gentle shade. 
 
 28 
 
Say not the springs are dry, whereof 
 These fountains played! 
 
 Far off, those waters run 
 To meet the sun! 
 
 Far off, beyond our feeble sight, 
 
 They're leaping somewhere, radiant 
 In the lizhV. 
 
 -<w 
 
THE ETERNAL CITY 
 
 The City, on her hills apart, dreams in the setting 
 
 sun; 
 And through the floating haze, as in a vision, one by 
 
 one. 
 The golden centuries she sees — 
 Her flaming, fading centuries! 
 Pass on and melt in mist that slowly on Campagna 
 
 creeps. 
 The sun sinks low; the City sleeps. 
 
 And darkness wraps her close, but high above, a few 
 
 stars shine; 
 While from her blackened mass below, a tower or 
 
 stone-pine 
 Springs forth to meet their silver light, 
 As from Dark Ages, deep as night, 
 A few great souls arose at call of higher things than 
 
 earth, 
 And out of chaos, leaped to birth. 
 
 The City wakes — The sunbeams dance on Tiber's yel- 
 low tide; 
 
 Around the Pincio, all entranced, the little children 
 ride; 
 
 And dark-eyed Baby, up and down, 
 
 Is borne by nurse in colored gown 
 
 And ribboned cap that fluttering, match the flower- 
 beds, where gay 
 
 Young Romans of Tomorrow play. 
 
 30 
 
still march the ancient acqueducts at slow pace o'er 
 
 the plain, 
 That ever from its winter sleep, wakes into spring 
 
 again! 
 Still through the City's beating heart, her living 
 
 fountains rise; 
 And o'er the Eternal City, watch and ward the eternal 
 
 skies ! 
 
 ax 
 
REMEMBRANCE 
 
 "Back from Rome? Does not a choir — 
 
 Nun or angel — echo still 
 
 In your ear, celestial singing?" 
 
 — On a hill, 
 
 There leaps a fountain! 
 
 — There are many leaping higher — 
 
 — But afar, I see it flashing; 
 
 And the music of its plashing 
 
 Still is ringing 
 
 "But St. Peter's?— Great St. Peter's! 
 
 Does not still, that mighty dome 
 
 Hold your mind with art undying?" 
 — I see Rome 
 Still from my window! 
 — Yellow walls shut out St. Peter's — 
 But roofs and domes unnumbered, gleaming, 
 And the far Campagna, dreaming, 
 There are lying 
 
 3» 
 
THE ROAD 
 
 Still, through a Dream, winds the Road: 
 
 Still, in a dream, I see the long Road glide 
 
 On, on before us — narrow, gray, between 
 
 Gray walls, high walls, that shut us in, and hide 
 
 From us, whate'er of wonder might be seen. 
 
 But high above the walls, peach-blossoms fling 
 
 Their rosy mist, and tinge the sky with dawn; 
 
 And bright as was the sun, when first the Spring 
 
 To a happy world was born, 
 
 Shines, fair as fruit of the Hesperides, 
 
 The golden glory of the orange-trees. 
 
 What beauty then, must those bare walls be hiding, 
 Between whose blindness, goes the gray Road gliding! 
 
 So high, so still they hang, those golden spheres! 
 
 Like tiny worlds afloat in some far blue; 
 
 Or like the shining dreams of our young years, 
 
 Whose light of dawn could last the whole day through. 
 
 But far above, they hang — beyond our reach! 
 
 The blind Road, beckoning, bids us "Come away! 
 
 For soon will fade the blossom of the peach — 
 
 The fruits of earth decay!" 
 
 And through a gate, shows earth that's ploughed and 
 
 bare — 
 The flowers, the fruit, shine in the upper air! 
 
 Then had we not their best — to see them gleaming? 
 "The gray Road, turning, wakes us from our dreaming. 
 
 Still in a dream, I see the Road grow wide; 
 Gone are the walls, and in their stead, there tower 
 
 23 
 
Gray cliffs that climb the sky upon one side, 
 
 And flecked with yellow broom, the sunlight flower. 
 
 Then lo! from 'neath our feet, the world is torn! 
 
 For wide before us, waits the windy sea. 
 
 Now fade the golden dreams and flowers of dawn, 
 
 Before this mystery. 
 
 And yet those heights, no foot of ours can scale! 
 
 And in these harbors, waits for us, no sail! 
 
 So still we keep the Road, that turning, turning. 
 Calls to our hearts to cease their useless yearning. 
 
 But on the golden broom, our spirits climb, 
 
 And gain the airy heights; and o'er the deep, 
 
 Have spread them wings that conquer Space and 
 
 Time — 
 
 (Is it the Road, we keep?) 
 
 Now in the sea, slow sinks the dying sun. 
 
 To rise new-clothed in dawn, another day; 
 
 But on the old gray Road, our journey's done — 
 
 Yet what is calling still, from far away? 
 
 — That night, how bright our dreams! — or dreams 
 
 they seemed — 
 Or had all dreams been real — the Road but dreamed? 
 
 O happy they, whose Dreams and Road are blended! 
 Whose Dreams come true, when their Long Road is 
 ended! 
 
 Still through a Dream, winds the Road 
 
 34 
 
FULL MOON AT AMALFI 
 
 We passed in Amalfi, that night of full moon, at the 
 
 Luna, 
 The little old hostelry, white as the foam where it 
 
 stands 
 On the edge of the roadway that winds like a dusty 
 
 white ribbon, 
 Along where the waves sing their song to the rocks 
 
 and the sands. 
 Though Ibsen's, the rooms we had taken, and where 
 
 he had written. 
 Indoors I would sleep not— Our loggia looked out on 
 
 the sea! 
 And there on the white seat, I settled, to watch and 
 
 to listen. 
 And bathe all my soul in the glory— but 'twas not for 
 
 me! 
 
 Alone on the edge of the world, I gazed far into 
 
 vagueness ; 
 And the moon hung aloft like a shield, silver-bright, 
 
 on the sky; 
 And the sea lay beneath like a mist floating down to 
 
 veil heaven; 
 And the stillness was music— the only false note 
 
 there, was I! 
 My senses looked out on the glory they saw but could 
 
 feel not; 
 ' My bodily eyes knew the beauty of sea and of moon ; 
 But the eyes of my spirit were closed as at overmuch 
 sunlight ; 
 
 35 
 
The ears of my spirit heard nothing at all of that 
 tune! 
 
 Oh! when had the sea ever spoken to me all un- 
 heeded? 
 
 Oh! when had the moon shed for me, all her glory in 
 vain? 
 
 Not a sail on the sea — not a cloud in the sky — there 
 to help me! 
 
 And the sense of that beauty was greater than mortal 
 could gain! 
 
 So, slowly I laid myself down with the moon bright 
 upon me, 
 
 And thought that the waves might now lull me to 
 sleep till the dawn; 
 
 And I slept all the night long, and heard not a sound 
 of their singing! 
 
 And awoke — and 'twas morning — The glory, the vis- 
 ion, were gone! 
 
 Oh! thus shall it be with each vision that comes out 
 
 of heaven? 
 That the eyes of the spirit be closed — for the time is 
 
 not yet? 
 Then why, though the years they are many, and far 
 
 is Amalfi, 
 Can I not the glory that lay there before me, forget? 
 
 36 
 
''Ai i}i€^ other e^cJ c^ /^^ g^^yJeyi'^^^'s'l 
 
LITTLE WHITE GARDEN 
 
 There's a little white garden near the sky, 
 
 With a pergola on it — lest it fly 
 
 Away, or slide 
 
 Down the mountain-side 
 
 To the sea below! 
 
 And straight little paths sedately trace 
 
 The outline of the little space 
 
 Between the walls and the tangled grace 
 
 Where daffodils grow. 
 
 The steep, white garden-walls hold up 
 
 The little garden, as a cup 
 
 May hold a rose 
 
 That in it, grows — 
 
 Or a daffodil; 
 
 And over the walls, one gazes down 
 
 On vineyards in their green and brown, 
 
 And sunburnt roofs of a little town 
 
 On a misty hill. 
 
 At the other end of the garden-walls. 
 
 From far below, the wide sea calls — 
 
 Though I loved you so, 
 
 I had to go 
 
 To that shining sea, 
 
 Little White Garden! None here, fills 
 
 Your place, there on your misty hills! 
 
 Then blow me one of your daffodils, 
 
 And remember me! 
 
 30 
 
SECKETS OF THE FARAGLIONI 
 A Phantasy 
 
 O would you learn 
 Of mystery? 
 Then turn, ah! turn 
 To this blue sea, 
 Wherein we stand, 
 The Enchanted Three! 
 
 And would you hear 
 A siren sing? 
 Draw near! draw near! 
 But with you, bring 
 The ears to hear 
 The siren sing! 
 And would you see 
 A mermaid rise? 
 It all depends 
 Upon your eyes! 
 
 Then nearer creep — 
 But not too near! 
 Lest that you too, 
 Might disappear 
 In these blue pools. 
 That lying deep 
 Within our shade. 
 Already keep 
 Some mermaid! 
 Who'd slowly rise 
 From out the blue, 
 And look surprise 
 At seeing you! 
 
 40 
 
And would you know 
 How Beauty's caught 
 In waves that flow? 
 When some see naught 
 But waves of green — 
 But waves of blue — 
 When might be seen 
 A mermaid too? 
 
 And would you hear 
 How thunder's made, 
 When sky is clear, 
 And wind's asleep? 
 Draw near! draw near 
 This cavern's shade, 
 Where lightnings flash 
 From out the deep. 
 Sea-surges swing, 
 And roll, and sweep 
 Far-echoing 
 Through coral caves! 
 (Hark! sirens sing!) 
 And is it waves — 
 Or stranger thing 
 — In that far corner there — 
 That you see fling 
 White arms in air? 
 
 And is it pearls 
 
 — Or only tossing spray — 
 
 Where the green water whirls 
 
 Away — away? 
 
 Hark! sirens sing — 
 
 41 
 
"Come away! 
 
 Where we sway, 
 
 Here by the gray rocks bending! 
 
 With fingers fair, 
 
 We beckon where 
 
 Your sorrow shall have ending! 
 
 — And he who clasps our fingers fair, 
 
 Shall find his joy 
 
 Melt— into— air!" 
 
 But not for you 
 
 The sirens call! 
 
 For you, not yet! not yet! 
 
 Though you will not 
 
 Remember all 
 
 You've seen — or all forget! 
 
 So homeward take this tinted shell — 
 
 There's a song within, 
 
 Of a soft, blue sea — 
 
 The magic sea wherein we dwell. 
 
 Enclosed in stone, 
 
 The Enchanted Three! 
 
 And if on shore they question you, 
 
 Then there's the shell to prove it true! 
 
 — But you will know 
 Where you have been; 
 And you will know 
 That you have seen 
 Waves of green — 
 Waves of blue — 
 Mermaids too! 
 
 4a 
 
CAPRI— IN SPRING 
 
 I know an island lying far away 
 
 In Italy: 
 Within a blue sea of its own, it lies; 
 And over it, the blue Italian skies — 
 
 (More blue — the sea!) 
 And from the sea, the gray cliffs, towering rise, 
 
 Bathed clear in sun — 
 But flecked with sunlight of more golden hue 
 Where yellow broom leans out against the blue, 
 
 Till day is done. 
 And fair the Dawn, that peers from heaven through, 
 
 In roses drest, 
 Then lays the morning clouds, her wreathed crown, 
 Upon the little gardens of the town, 
 
 And hills' soft breast — 
 For so, the little fruit-trees floated down! 
 
 To join the Spring 
 In that fair island, that so far away, 
 Still in my heart is lying, there to stay 
 
 All-blossoming! 
 
 43 
 
THE LOST HOURS 
 
 "For the things which are seen are temporal; 
 but the things which are not seen, are eternal." 
 
 2 Cor. IV. 
 
 We searched the city over for the "Hours" — 
 Those lovely "Hours of Raphael" — that once shone 
 Fair on some frescoed ceili|ig — bright as morning- 
 But never could we find where they had flown. 
 Yet still we sought those Hours — (losing more!)- 
 And still their floating garments trailed before 
 Our eager footsteps — They were lost, some said; 
 And none could even tell how they had fled! 
 
 — Then came to me a vision of the Hours — 
 The ever unseen Hours, that more fleet, 
 Fly by on swift and swifter-moving feet: 
 Those other Hours, once we called our own; 
 Those gleaming Hours God lets slip between 
 The pages of drab years — treasured unseen; 
 The sad, sweet Hours gone, that we would fain 
 Recall — to live again; 
 
 And loveliest — the Hours we've never known — 
 But only dreamed! — Radiant Hours, stay! 
 Fly not so fast away! 
 
 — But who can hold the Hours as they fly? 
 They come, they pass, they fade — 
 They do not die! 
 
 They pass — into that rainbow place 
 Where waits remembered grace 
 
 44 
 
Of Beauty that's gone by; 
 
 They fade — as fades the dawn from each new day- 
 
 Into the morning sky. 
 
 Slowly away - - - - 
 
 As Beauty, when once born, 
 
 Lives — though forever fled — 
 
 They are not dead; 
 
 While Memory shall last. 
 
 Those unseen Hours, past. 
 
 Shall wait for us, where waits 
 
 Tomorrow's dawn! 
 
 -. \ 
 
 
 45 
 
THE WINDOW ON THE SEA 
 
 SONGS OF "ITALIA IRREDENTA" 
 
 "Per ogni ora obe vicn«, 
 una apTan%a," 
 
THE MARCH OF THE DOLOMITES 
 
 "What are these which are arrayed in white robes?" 
 
 Rev. VII. 
 
 We are those who must pass into great tribulation, 
 Through blood of our children who claim us their 
 
 right; 
 But chained among forests where nation 'gainst 
 
 nation, 
 Strives ever to hold us, we climb to the light! 
 
 We shall come through the trial of battle, victorious! 
 
 Though branded with fire, the sign of our woes, 
 
 We raise our scarred heads to blue heaven, all- 
 glorious. 
 
 And our wounds, we shall heal in the cool of the 
 snows. 
 
 Like clouds, the gray smoke of the cannon goes 
 
 creeping 
 Among us, to blind us, and peril increase, 
 But He who has made us, holds us in His keeping, 
 And lifts us to where in His heaven, is peace. 
 
 But what of our children?— our children who love us! 
 When peace may be theirs, who shall hold us their 
 
 own? 
 Shall the Austrian eagle be soaring above us? 
 Or Italy's tri-color, floating alone? 
 
 All, all are our children, though some of them, dying, 
 Salute their black eagle in day's fading glow, 
 
 49 
 
While our peaks will run crimson for others who're 
 
 lying 
 In green of the forest and white of. the snow! 
 
 But Peace to our children! for we shall enfold them 
 As Earth, through the ages, guards gently her dead; 
 And out of the Valley of Death that would hold them, 
 Their souls marching upward, by us shall be led! 
 
 We are those who shall come out of great tribulation! 
 Through blood of our children who strive for the 
 
 Right! 
 And we are a Sign set for each generation — 
 To arise out of Darkness! to climb to the Light! 
 
 Like clouds, the gray troubles of Earth may go creep- 
 ing 
 Among us, to blind us, and peril increase — 
 But He who has made us, has all in His keeping, 
 And lifts us to where in His heaven, is Peace! 
 
 50 
 
TO A TYROLEAN RITEB 
 
 Oh! thou wild Tyrolean river! 
 From far Alpine peaks above, 
 Rushing ever, resting never — 
 Now a veil of silver light, 
 Floating from so sheer a height, 
 That thou seemest scarce to move — 
 Now a torrent, foaming ever 
 In a plunging, headlong flight — 
 Thou art ever onward going 
 With a glad intensity, 
 Every minute of thy flowing. 
 Moving nearer to the sea! 
 
 When thy green waves kiss the forest- 
 Where no sea-sand ever shines — 
 Is it not the sea thou hearest 
 In the murmur of the pines? 
 For it sure, to thee is calling 
 With the voice of Liberty, 
 Else why art thou plunging, falling. 
 Bearing all along with thee? 
 For thou carriest all before thee — 
 And the hearts of men go with thee! 
 As did mine when first I saw thee 
 Ever wide and wider growing, 
 In the beauty of thy flowing — 
 For thy pass-word it is "Onward!" 
 And thy goal is Liberty! 
 
 From afar, that goal awaits thee; 
 Long the time e'er thou shalt glide 
 
 51 
 
Out upon the mighty waters — 
 
 Merge thy torrent with the tide; 
 
 Yet thou plungest on, victorious 
 
 Over rocks that may not bar! 
 
 By their presence made more glorious 
 
 Than smooth-flowing rivers are! 
 
 For as in a dream, thou knowest — 
 
 Thou who lovest Liberty — 
 
 That the land wherein thou flowest, 
 
 Some day, surely shall be free! 
 
 So sweep onv/ard, out of Tyrol! 
 All thy way through Italy! 
 On that path where He who made thee- 
 Moving sign of Progress — laid thee; 
 Where the narrows only hem thee, 
 Hold thee in — but never stem thee — 
 Where the pass-word is "Avanti!" 
 And the goal is Liberty! 
 
THE BORDER-LINE 
 
 I mark Trentino's boundary — the peak 
 Where all day, have her children fought and died; 
 Now, more than dying rays of sunset, streak 
 With deepening crimson light, my snowy side! 
 
 Since dawn, these men of earth have striv'n to gain 
 The gleaming slopes on every hand, afar, 
 That beckoned onward, over peak and plain — 
 Till from the boundary, they moved the bar! 
 
 And some have crossed the border — e'er the dark, 
 They'll plant their banner where the bugles blow; 
 And some fell here, and left, for all their mark, 
 A crimson stain upon the melting snow! 
 
 Ah! well for Victory's favorite who can wear 
 The stars of earthly honors on his breast! 
 What of these unknown dead? Did they not dare 
 As much, though falling when they forward pressed? 
 
 Earth's barriers fade.. ..Oh! Stars! that overhead, 
 
 Above the tired world, so calmly shine, 
 
 Glow tenderly on these triumphant dead! 
 
 For they — they too! — have crossed the border-line! 
 
 89 
 
FLOWER-FIELDS 
 
 In far green valleys near the sky, 
 
 O wild sweet flowers! you grow; 
 
 Around you, white peaks tower high 
 
 Amid the eternal snow; 
 
 — But you are low — 
 
 As though the sunset-glory grew 
 
 Too great for heaven alone, to bear, 
 
 And God had laid it softly thiough 
 
 The waving meadows, where 
 
 In living colors, men might see 
 
 How like to heaven, the earth may be! 
 
 54 
 
MONTE CRISTALLO 
 
 Into the blue, 
 
 Thy bare peaks rise, 
 
 Monte Cristallo! 
 Rose-pink, blood-red, they rest among the skies; 
 Above the clouds of Earth, where is thy base 
 'Neath clinging forest-land, — as though God said, 
 "Here in this troublous world, must be thy place, 
 
 Yet is thy part 
 To rise above the sorrows that embrace 
 
 Thee — Held to Earth thou art, 
 
 Yet lift thy head! 
 To that for which I called thee here, be true! 
 And though at set of sun, thy woes may glow 
 
 Blood-red, 
 
 Yet hide not thou thy face — 
 
 Look toward the light, and rise 
 
 Into the blue!" 
 
 ss 
 
\ 
 
T' ^ MinciQH' or) tne. cJ< 
 
 eoi. 
 
THE WINDOW ON THE SEA 
 
 "O. Watcher at the window 
 That looks upon the sea! 
 Why stand you as though gazing 
 Into Futurity?" 
 
 — It beckons there before me, 
 Within a shining haze; 
 So far away — so lovely — 
 I can do naught but gaze! 
 
 "But there, no ships come sailing 
 To bring you golden store; 
 Or else, like dreams they're passing — 
 And reach another shore!" 
 
 My sails are winged with silver. 
 More bright when far away! 
 They pass — but were they nearer, 
 Their white would turn to gray! 
 
 "But while you gaze to seaward, 
 The sun behind, has set — 
 You miss what goes forever! 
 Past day, you will regret!" 
 
 I need no sunset-glory — 
 Let go the day that's gone! 
 
 The moon will hang forgotten 
 
 For I shall have the dawn! 
 
 S9 
 
LIBRftRY OF CONGRESS 
 
 015 897 462 9 ^