TO MY ITALIAN PERGOLA REVISITED by JOHN LAWSON STODDARD

Shaded avenue of bloom,
Where unnumbered roses gleam,
To your sweetly-scented gloom
I return, as in a dream.

Through your vista long and low,
On a path of tender light,
Like an alpine afterglow,
Lie your petals pink and white;

While above, with winsome grace,
Countless floral censers fling
To the breeze that fans my face
All the perfume of the spring.

Here, a leafy opening shows
Como's clam, unruffled hue;
There, your parted buds disclose
Mountains rising to the blue.

And the roses, and the trees,
And the mountains, and the lake,
And the incense-laden breeze
All my old affection wake;

And they mutely ask me why
I so long have left them here;
And my only fit reply
Is a mingled sigh and tear.

For they never had betrayed,
Nor had done me harm,
But had faithfully portrayed
Nature's pure, perennial charm.

Hence the fountain, as it flows,
And the nightingale's refrain,
And the deeply-blushing rose
Whisper: "Leave us not again!

"For the sands are running fast,
And the summers will be few,
When you can, as in the past,
See these blossoms, wet with dew!"

Fragrant chalices, swing low,
Till my lips your petals press!
Let me once more fully know
The delight of your caress;

While I pledge you my return,
As each vernal sun shall shine,
Ever rapturous to learn
That your glowing hearts are mine.

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

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