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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=341860" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Realms Of Gold</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">(Written after hearing a line of Keats repeated by a passing stranger<br>under the palms of Southern California.)</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>Under the palms of San Diego<br>Where gold-skinned Mexicans loll at ease,<br>And the red half-moons of their black-pipped melons<br>Drop from their hands in the sunset seas,<br>And an incense, out of the old brown missions,<br>Blows through the orange trees;</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I wished that a poet who died in Europe<br>Had found his way to this rose-red West;<br>That Keats had walked by the wide Pacific<br>And cradled his head on its healing breast,<br>And made new songs of the sun-burned sea-folk,<br>New poems, perhaps his best.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I thought of him, under the ripe pomegranates<br>At the desert's edge, where the grape-vines grow,<br>In a sun-kissed ranch between grey-green sage-brush<br>And amethyst mountains, peaked with snow,<br>Or watching the lights of the City of Angels<br>Glitter like stars below.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">He should walk, at dawn, by the lemon orchards,<br>And breathe at ease in that dry bright air;<br>And the Spanish bells in their crumbling cloisters<br>Of brown adobe would sing to him there;<br>And the old Franciscans would bring him their baskets<br>Of apple and olive and pear.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And the mandolins, in the deep blue twilight,<br>Under that palm with the lion's mane,<br>Would pluck, once more, at his golden heart-strings,<br>And tell him the old sea-tales of Spain;<br>And there should the daughters of Hesperus teach him<br>Their mystical songs again.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Then, the dusk blew sweet over seas of peach-bloom;<br>The moon sailed white in the cloudless blue;<br>The tree-toads purred, and the crickets chirruped;<br>And better than anything dreamed came true;<br>For, under the murmuring palms, a shadow<br>Passed, with the eyes I knew;</div><div style="margin:10px 0">A shadow, perhaps, of the tall green fountains<br>That rustled their fronds on that glittering sky,<br>A hungering shadow, a lean dark shadow,<br>A dreaming shadow that drifted by;<br>But I heard him whisper the strange dark music<br>That found it so 'rich to die.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And the murmuring palms of San Diego<br>Shook with stars as he passed beneath.<br>The Paradise palms, and the wild white orchards,<br>The night, and its roses, were all one breath,<br>Bearing the song of a nightingale seaward,<br>A song that had out-soared death.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Alfred+Noyes">Alfred Noyes</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=341860" data-title="The Realms Of Gold de Alfred Noyes" data-description="(Written after hearing a line of Keats repeated by a passing stranger
under the palms of Southern California.)


Under the palms of San Diego
Where gold-skinned Mexicans loll at ease,
And the red half-moons of their black-pipped melons
Drop from t..."></div>
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