The slopes of famed Vesuvius are fair With golden beauty in the golden air. In terraced loveliness they softly rise, Sweet blandishments that melt in sweetest skies. But lo! upon the summit what is this, What horrid apex of a mount of bliss, What fuming, black, bar sinister of grace? Such, lady, is a picture of your face. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...DOMESDAY BOOK: BARRETT BAYS by EDGAR LEE MASTERS SUFFERED UNDER PONTIUS PILATE, WAS CRUCIFIED, DEAD, AND BURIED by CECIL FRANCES ALEXANDER THE SHADOW DANCE by LOUISE CHANDLER MOULTON SONNET: 24 by WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE SONNET: 29 by WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE |