Up Monte Motterone

Above the vines the cherry-trees are growing,
        The chestnuts o’er the cherries make cool shade,
        And I up-wandering found a little maid
Whose hair was brown, whose eyes like jet were
She looked me through, as of my heart’s wish knowing,
        Then in her gentlest Latin tone she said:
        ‘These are the flowers wherefrom our wreaths
            we braid
When to church in May-time we are going.’

I looked, and lo! ten thousand stars,
    With eyes like pheasant’s, glittered in the grass,
        And where the crickets made their gayest cheer
    She plucked and sang and plucked, and I, alas!
Knew not the words, but still these liquid bars
        Of song in soft narcissus-time I hear.

(Sonnets in Switzerland and Italy, p. 62)