IN Bozen of a Sunday, the air is gay with chiming; In the valley full of belfries, every clapper is aswing; Bell-song and bird-song, each with each is rhyming In Bozen of a Sunday, when the hills are glad with Spring. IN Bozen of a Sunday, between the walls of roses That border merry Talfer with many-coloured sweet, Children are gayer and sweeter than the posies, And they drown the river's chatter with the patter of their feet. THE boys and girls go walking, when Rosengarten's flushing. Her eyes are on the mountain-peaks, but little does he care For blush of the hills, when he sees his sweetheart blushing, Or for sunset on the snows, when he can see it on her hair. THE little feet, play-weary, stumble homeward all around them, For a chill steals down the valley as the gold to silver gleams. Shy cling their hands, as a touch unseen had bound them, And his eyes are full of tenderness, and hers are full of dreams -- In Bozen of a Sunday, when the hills are glad with Spring. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE MARTYR; INDICATIVE OF PASSION OF PEOPLES APRIL 15, 1865 by HERMAN MELVILLE PERFECT WOMAN by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH THE SONG OF WANDERING AENGUS by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS TO AN ISLE IN THE WATER by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS MASKS by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH POEM FOR PICTURE: TO A PORTRAIT BY EDWARD STEICHEN (RACHMANINOFF) by FRANK ANKENBRAND JR. |