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(From W. Gilmore Simms, a Poem)
OUTSIDE my exile’s home I watch the sway | |
| Of the bowed pine-tops in the gloaming gray, | |
| Casting across the melancholy lea | |
| A tint of browner blight; | |
| Outside my exile’s home, borne to and fro, | 5 |
| I hear the inarticulate murmurs flow | |
| Of the faint wind-tides breathing like a sea; | |
| When, in clear vision, softly dawns on me | |
| (As if in contrast with yon slow decay) | |
| The loveliest land that smiles beneath the sky, | 10 |
| The coast-land of our Western Italy: | |
| I view the waters quivering; quaff the breeze, | |
| Whose briny raciness keeps an under taste | |
| Of flavorous tropic sweets (perchance swept home | |
| Across the flickering waste | 15 |
| Of summer waves, capped by the Ariel foam) | |
| From Cuba’s perfumed groves and garden spiceries! | |
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| Along the horizon-line a vapor swims, | |
| Pale rose and amethyst, melting into gold; | |
| Up to our feet the fawning ripples rolled, | 20 |
| Glimmer an instant, tremble, lapse, and—die: | |
| The whole rare scene, its every element | |
| Etherealized, transmuted, subtly blent | |
| By viewless alchemy, | |
| Into the glory of a golden mood, | 25 |
| Brings potent exaltations, while I walk | |
| (A joyful youth again) | |
| The snow-white beaches by the Atlantic Main! | |
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