'Tis time I stepped from Horeb to the plain. Mountains, farewell. I need a heavier air. Youth's memories are not good for souls in pain, And each new age has its own meed of care. Farewell, sad Alps, you are my barrier Now to the North, and hold my passions slain For all life's vultures, as I downward fare To a new land of love which is not vain. How staid is Italy! No gardened rose Scattering its leaves is chaster than she is. No cloister stiller, no retreat more close. There is a tameness even in her seas On which white towns look down, as who should say, "Here wise men long have lived, and live to-day." | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...FAREWELL TO MALTA by GEORGE GORDON BYRON STARTING FROM PAUMANOK by WALT WHITMAN AT THE GRAVE OF BURNS; SEVEN YEARS AFTER HIS DEATH by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH PEARLS OF THE FAITH: 82. AL-RAWUF by EDWIN ARNOLD HERITAGE by LAURA HELENA BROWER |