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| THE JULY day drew to a close, the fret of travel past, | |
| The cool and moonlit courtyard of the inn was gained at last, | |
| Where oleanders greeted us between their stately ranks, | |
| As pink and proud as if they grew on native Indian banks; | |
| Seen from our chamber-window’s ledge they looked more strangely fair, | 5 |
| Like blossomed baskets lightly poised upon the summer air. | |
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| When came the sultry morning sun, I did not care to go | |
| On dusty roads, but stayed to see my oleanders glow | |
| Within their shadowy oasis; the pilgrimage was long | |
| To Petrarch’s home, hot alien winds dried up his dewy song; | 10 |
| Though Laura’s cheek, with centuries sweet, still blushes at his call, | |
| Her blush was not so bright as yours, my oleanders tall. | |
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| And fiercer grew the summer day, while in the court below | |
| The white-capped peasant-women trim kept moving to and fro, | |
| With little laughs and endless talks, whose murmur rose to me | 15 |
| Like the spring chats of careless birds from blossomed apple-tree; | |
| And, hearing it, I blessed the choice that held me there that day, | |
| With my stately oleanders keeping all the world at bay. | |
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| The masonry of Nismes was lost, but still I could not sigh, | |
| For Roman work looks sad when we have bidden Rome good by; | 20 |
| Prison and castle of the Pope stood close upon the hill, | |
| But of castle and of prison my soul had had its fill— | |
| I knew that blood-stains, old and dark, clung to the inner wall, | |
| And blessed the lovely living bloom of oleanders tall. | |
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| Thou pleasant, pleasant courtyard, I make to thee a crown | 25 |
| Of gems, from Murray’s casket, then shut the red lid down, | |
| Contented if I still may keep, beneath a sky of blue, | |
| The tender treasure of the day when first my spirit knew | |
| Thy quiet and thy shadow and thy bird-like gossip, all | |
| Enclosed within that sunset wreath of oleanders tall. | 30 |
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