<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=409356" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Amalfi. (Birds Of Passage. Flight The Fourth)</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Sweet the memory is to me<br>Of a land beyond the sea,<br>Where the waves and mountains meet,<br>Where amid her mulberry-trees<br>Sits Amalfi in the heat,<br>Bathing ever her white feet<br>In the tideless summer seas. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">In the middle of the town,<br>From its fountains in the hills,<br>Tumbling through the narrow gorge,<br>The Canneto rushes down,<br>Turns the great wheels of the mills,<br>Lifts the hammers of the forge. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">'T is a stairway, not a street,<br>That ascends the deep ravine,<br>Where the torrent leaps between<br>Rocky walls that almost meet.<br>Toiling up from stair to stair<br>Peasant girls their burdens bear;<br>Sunburnt daughters of the soil,<br>Stately figures tall and straight,<br>What inexorable fate<br>Dooms them to this life of toil? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Lord of vineyards and of lands,<br>Far above the convent stands.<br>On its terraced walk aloof<br>Leans a monk with folded hands,<br>Placid, satisfied, serene,<br>Looking down upon the scene<br>Over wall and red-tiled roof;<br>Wondering unto what good end<br>All this toil and traffic tend,<br>And why all men cannot be<br>Free from care and free from pain,<br>And the sordid love of gain,<br>And as indolent as he. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Where are now the freighted barks<br>From the marts of east and west?<br>Where the knights in iron sarks<br>Journeying to the Holy Land,<br>Glove of steel upon the hand,<br>Cross of crimson on the breast?<br>Where the pomp of camp and court?<br>Where the pilgrims with their prayers?<br>Where the merchants with their wares,<br>And their gallant brigantines<br>Sailing safely into port<br>Chased by corsair Algerines? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Vanished like a fleet of cloud,<br>Like a passing trumpet-blast,<br>Are those splendors of the past,<br>And the commerce and the crowd!<br>Fathoms deep beneath the seas<br>Lie the ancient wharves and quays,<br>Swallowed by the engulfing waves;<br>Silent streets and vacant halls,<br>Ruined roofs and towers and walls;<br>Hidden from all mortal eyes<br>Deep the sunken city lies:<br>Even cities have their graves! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">This is an enchanted land!<br>Round the headlands far away<br>Sweeps the blue Salernian bay<br>With its sickle of white sand:<br>Further still and furthermost<br>On the dim discovered coast<br>Paestum with its ruins lies,<br>And its roses all in bloom<br>Seem to tinge the fatal skies<br>Of that lonely land of doom. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">On his terrace, high in air,<br>Nothing doth the good monk care<br>For such worldly themes as these,<br>From the garden just below<br>Little puffs of perfume blow,<br>And a sound is in his ears<br>Of the murmur of the bees<br>In the shining chestnut trees;<br>Nothing else he heeds or hears.<br>All the landscape seems to swoon<br>In the happy afternoon;<br>Slowly o'er his senses creep<br>The encroaching waves of sleep,<br>And he sinks as sank the town,<br>Unresisting, fathoms down,<br>Into caverns cool and deep! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Walled about with drifts of snow,<br>Hearing the fierce north-wind blow,<br>Seeing all the landscape white,<br>And the river cased in ice,<br>Comes this memory of delight,<br>Comes this vision unto me<br>Of a long-lost Paradise<br>In the land beyond the sea.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Henry+Wadsworth+Longfellow">Henry Wadsworth Longfellow</a><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <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=409356" data-title="Amalfi. (Birds Of Passage. Flight The Fourth) de Henry Wadsworth Longfellow" data-description="Sweet the memory is to me Of a land beyond the sea, Where the waves and mountains meet, Where amid her mulberry-trees Sits Amalfi in the heat, Bathing ever her white feet In the tideless summer seas. In the middle of the town, From its fountains..."></div> </div> </div>

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