FAIR vision! thou'rt from sunny skies, Born where the rose hath richest dyes; To thee a southern heart hath given That glow of love, that calm of heaven, And round thee cast th' ideal gleam, The light that is but of a dream. Far hence, where wandering music fills The haunted air of Roman hills, Or where Venetian waves of yore Heard melodies, they hear no more, Some proud old minster's gorgeous aisle Hath known the sweetness of thy smile. Or haply, from a lone, dim shrine Mid forests of the Apennine, Whose breezy sounds of cave and dell Pass like a floating anthem-swell, Thy soft eyes o'er the pilgrim's way Shed blessings with their gentle ray. Or gleaming through a chestnut wood, Perchance thine island-chapel stood, Where from the blue Sicilian sea The sailor's hymn hath risen to thee, And blessed thy power to guide, to save, Madonna! watcher of the wave! Oh! might a voice, a whisper low, Forth from those lips of beauty flow! Couldst thou but speak of all the tears, The conflicts, and the pangs of years, Which, at thy secret shrine revealed, Have gushed from human hearts unsealed! Surely to thee hath woman come, As a tired wanderer back to home! Unveiling many a timid guest And treasured sorrow of her breast, A buried love -- a wasting care -- Oh! did those griefs win peace from prayer? And did the poet's fervid soul To thee lay bare its inmost scroll? Those thoughts, which poured their quenchless fire And passion o'er th' Italian lyre, Did they to still submission die Beneath thy calm, religious eye? And hath the crested helmet bowed Before thee, midst the incense cloud? Hath the crowned leader's bosom lone To thee its haughty griefs made known? Did thy glance break their frozen sleep, And win the unconquered one to weep? Hushed is the anthem, closed the vow, The votive garland withered now; Yet holy still to me thou art, Thou that hast soothed so many a heart! And still must blessed influence flow From the meek glory of thy brow. Still speak to suffering woman's love, Of rest for gentle hearts above; Of hope, that hath its treasure there, Of home, that knows no changeful air. Bright form! lit up with thoughts divine, Ave! such power be ever thine! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...AN APPEAL TO MY COUNTRYWOMEN by FRANCES ELLEN WATKINS HARPER A SHROPSHIRE LAD: 9 by ALFRED EDWARD HOUSMAN TO THE UNIVERSITY OF CAMBRIDGE, IN NEW-ENGLAND by PHILLIS WHEATLEY FRAGMENTS INTENDED FOR DEATH'S JEST-BOOK: A LOFTY MIND by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES PSALM 23 by OLD TESTAMENT BIBLE LEFT ON THE BATTLE-FIELD by SARAH TITTLE BOLTON IN REFERENCE TO HER CHILDREN, 23 JUNE, 1659 by ANNE BRADSTREET |