Page:Maud, and other poems.djvu/159

Rh Nor knew we well what pleased us most, Not the clipt palm of which they boast; But distant colour, happy hamlet, A moulder'd citadel on the coast,

Or tower, or high hill-convent, seen A light amid its olives green; Or olive-hoary cape in ocean; Or rosy blossom in hot ravine,

Where oleanders flush'd the bed Of silent torrents, gravel-spread; And, crossing, oft we saw the glisten Of ice, far off on a mountain head.

We loved that hall, tho' white and cold, Those niched shapes of noble mould, A princely people's awful princes, The grave, severe Genovese of old.