Ah! fair Baveno, well do I recall
        How, when Pallanza burned and writhed with
        Cool shadows fell right downward to thy feet;
And I, who dreamed beside thy water-wall,
Felt the magnolia’s incense prodigal
        Poured from white cups upon the garden-seat,
        The vine flowers’ scent impalpable and sweet,
And honeysuckle, sweetest of them all.

But most in that enchanting dewy hour
    I blessed the odours from that pearl of grey
        That breaks into the semblance of a star,
        For then the day came near, that was so far,
When one beside me bare white orange-flower,
    And all the world seemed made for marriage day.

(Sonnets in Switzerland and Italy, p. 57)