How well I call to mind,
    When from those boughs the wind
    Shook down upon her bosom flower on flower;
    And there she sat, meek-eyed,
    In midst of all that pride,
    Sprinkled and blushing through an amorous shower
    Some to her hair paid dower,
    And seem’d to dress the curls,
    Queenlike, with gold and pearls;
    Some, snowing, on her drapery stopp’d,
    Some on the earth, some on the water dropp’d;
    While others, fluttering from above,
    Seem’d wheeling round in pomp, and saying, “Here reigns Love.”

    How often then I said,
    Inward, and fill’d with dread,
    “Doubtless this creature came from Paradise!”
    For at her look the while,
    Her voice, and her sweet smile,
    And heavenly air, truth parted from mine eyes;
    So that, with long-drawn sighs,
    I said, as far from men,
    “How came I here, and when?”
    I had forgotten; and alas! 
    Fancied myself in heaven, not where I was;
    And from that time till this, I bear
    Such love for the green bower, I cannot rest elsewhere.

    LEIGH HUNT.

CANZONE XV.

In quella parte dov’ Amor mi sprona.

HE FINDS HER IMAGE EVERYWHERE.

      When Love, fond Love, commands the strain,
    The coyest muse must sure obey;
    Love bids my wounded breast complain,
    And whispers the melodious lay: 
    Yet when such griefs restrain the muse’s wing,
    How shall she dare to soar, or how attempt to sing?

    Oh! could my heart express its woe,
    How poor, how wretched should I seem! 
    But as the plaintive accents flow,
    Soft comfort spreads her golden gleam;
    And each gay scene, that Nature holds to view,
    Bids Laura’s absent charms to memory bloom anew.

    Though Fate’s severe decrees remove
    Her gladsome beauties from my sight,
    Yet, urged by pity, friendly Love
    Bids fond reflection yield delight;
    If lavish spring with flowerets strews the mead,
    Her lavish beauties all to fancy are displayed!

    When to this globe the solar beams
    Their full meridian blaze impart,
    It pictures Laura, that inflames
    With passion’s fires each human heart: 
    And when the sun completes his daily race,
    I see her riper age complete each growing grace.

    When milder planets, warmer skies
    O’er winter’s frozen reign prevail;
    When groves are tinged with vernal dyes,
    And violets scent the wanton gale;
    Those flowers, the verdure, then recall that day,
    In which my Laura stole this heedless heart away.

    The blush of health, that crimson’d o’er
    Her youthful cheek; her modest mien;
    The gay-green garment that she wore,
    Have ever dear to memory been;
    More dear they grow as time the more inflames
    This tender breast o’ercome by passion’s wild extremes!