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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=409521" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Italian Scenery</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Night rests in beauty on Mont Alto.<br>Beneath its shade the beauteous Arno sleeps<br>In vallombrosa's bosom, and dark trees<br>Bend with a calm and quiet shadow down<br>Upon the beauty of that silent river.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Still in the west a melancholy smile<br>Mantles the lips of day, and twilight pale<br>Moves like a spectre in the dusky sky,<br>While eve's sweet star on the fast-fading year<br>Smiles calmly. Music steals at intervals<br>Across the water, with a tremulous swell,<br>From out the upland dingle of tall firs;<br>And a faint footfall sounds, where, dim and dark,<br>Hangs the gray willow from the river's brink,<br>O'ershadowing its current. Slowly there<br>The lover's gondola drops down the stream,<br>Silent, save when its dipping oar is heard,<br>Or in its eddy sighs the rippling wave.<br>Mouldering and moss-grown through the lapse of years,<br>In motionless beauty stands the giant oak;<br>Whilst those that saw its green and flourishing youth<br>Are gone and are forgotten. Soft the fount,<br>Whose secret springs the star-light pale discloses,<br>Gushes in hollow music; and beyond<br>The broader river sweeps its silent way,<br>Mingling a silver current with that sea,<br>Whose waters have no tides, coming nor going.<br>On noiseless wing along that fair blue sea<br>The halcyon flits; and where the wearied storm<br>Left a loud moaning, all is peace again.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">A calm is on the deep. The winds that came<br>O'er the dark sea-surge with a tremulous breathing,<br>And mourned on the dark cliff where weeds grew rank,<br>And to the autumnal death-dirge the deep sea<br>Heaved its long billows, with a cheerless song<br>Have passed away to the cold earth again,<br>Like a wayfaring mourner. Silently<br>Up from the calm sea's dim and distant verge,<br>Full and unveiled, the moon's broad disk emerges.<br>On Tivoli, and where the fairy hues<br>Of autumn glow upon Abruzzi's woods,<br>The silver light is spreading. Far above,<br>Encompassed with their thin, cold atmosphere,<br>The Apennines uplift their snowy brows,<br>Glowing with colder beauty, where unheard<br>The eagle screams in the fathomless, ether,<br>And stays his wearied wing. Here let us pause.<br>The spirit of these solitudes -- the soul <br>That dwells within these steep and difficult places--<br>Spearks a mysterious language to mine own,<br>And brings unutterable musings. Earth<br>Sleeps in the shades of nightfall, and the sea<br>Spreads like a thin blue haze beneath my feet;<br>Whilst the gray columns and the mouldering tombs<br>Of the Imperial City, hidden deep<br>Beneath the mantle of their shadows, rest.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">My spirit looks on earth. A heavnly voice<br>Comes silently: 'Dreamer, is earth thy dwelling? <br>Lo! Nursed within that fair and fruitful bosom,<br>Which has sustained thy being, and within<br>The colder breast of Ocean, lie the germs<br>Of thine own dissolution! E'en the air,<br>That fans the clear blue sky, and gives thee strength,<br>Up from the sullen lake of mouldering reeds,<br>And the wide waste of forest, where the osier<br>Thrives in the damp and motionless atmosphere,<br>Shall bring the dire and wasting pestilence,<br>And blight they cheek. Dram thou of higher things:<br>This world is not thy home!' And yet my eye<br>Rests upon earth again. How beautiful,<br>Where wild Velino heaves its sullen aves<br>Down the high cliff of gray and shapeless granite,<br>Hung on the curling mist, the moonlight bow<br>Arches the perilous river! A soft light<br>Silvers the Albanian mountains, and the haze<br>That rests upon their summits mellows down<br>The austerer features of their beauty. Faint<br>And dim-discovered glow, the Sabine hills;<br>And, listening to the sea's monotonous shell,<br>High on the cliffs of Terracina stands<br>The castle of the royal Goth* in ruins.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But night is in her wane: day's early flush<br>Glows like a hectic on her fading cheek,<br>Wasting its beauty. And the opening dawn<br>With cheerful luster lights the royal city,<br>Where, with its proud tiara of dark towers,<br>It sleeps upon its own romantic bay.</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>
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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=409521" data-title="Italian Scenery de Henry Wadsworth Longfellow" data-description="Night rests in beauty on Mont Alto.
Beneath its shade the beauteous Arno sleeps
In vallombrosa's bosom, and dark trees
Bend with a calm and quiet shadow down
Upon the beauty of that silent river.

Still in the west a melancholy smile
Mantles the l..."></div>
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