I think of you, Myrtho, divine enchantress, Of high Posillipo, shining with a thousand fires, Of your brow flooded with the clarities of the Orient, Of the black grapes mingled with the gold of your tress. It is in your cup as well that I had drunk of ecstasy And in the furtive flash of your smiling eye When I was seen praying at the feet of Bacchus, For the Muse has made me one of the sons of Greece. I know why over yonder the volcano has reopened . . . It is because yesterday you had touched it with an agile foot, And suddenly the horizon is overcast with cinders. Since a Norman duke shattered your gods of clay, Forever, beneath the boughs of Virgil's laurel, The pale Hydrangea weds the green Myrtle! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...STANZAS by GEORGE GORDON BYRON CONTENTMENT, AFTER THE MANNER OF HORACE by CHARLES STUART CALVERLEY DURING WIND AND RAIN by THOMAS HARDY FRINGED GENTIANS by AMY LOWELL VERSES TO MR. C by ALEXANDER POPE INDIAN NAMES by LYDIA HUNTLEY SIGOURNEY |