Book of verses / Edgar Lee Masters [electronic text]

A DREAM OF ITALY

DEAR heart, this leaf and blossom moveOld hopes whose memory ne'er departsPlucked from dust that lies above The heart of hearts.

In our rough clime where skies are gray O'er leafless trees in winter's time We dreamed of a serener dayThrough books of rhyme.

We saw the sky of Italy, We breathed the odor of its flowers,

And sailed o'er wastes of azure sea—The world was ours.

Since, from the lands whereto our shipsIn spirit sailed by wind and wave,You send these frail and fragrant tipsFrom Shelley's grave.

I turn to that dear hearth which knowsNor you, nor me, nor shall again,And ask if aught before you showsBy field or glen,

Great ruins, mountains, crystal lakes,Serenest seas or castled streams,So bright as those our memory takesFrom our youth's dreams?

What glory lingers o'er that land,

Like that we saw in classic song, With thought and fancy hand in hand, Far from the throng?

The shadow of our maple trees, To Dante's voice was native too; And Plato conversed here at ease The bright day through.

Now all we dreamed of lies before Your eyes, the past is now a dream; I only hope that sea and shore Will take the gleam

From memory of those afternoons, —When all the world was true and fair — Whose light was blent with rising moons, And fragrant air.

Men's hearts must crumble like the bloomsYou sent, but from them may ariseThe light that shall dispel the gloomsOf distant skies.

For genius throws o'er all this earthThe glory of a higher sphere,And makes this humble flower worthA noble tear.