O almond trees, beneath whose fruited shade I lay these summer days and saw the sea, The hills of Mola, and Calabria's jade, Good-bye! Perhaps the god that yielded me Such luxury of happiness, these clear And brimming hours with you, will, in his grace, Yield none again; and, summer, finding here Your branches green, will find again the place I love, not me. Thro' all the leafy years, Others will come and love your loveliness; Love with a heart as gay and free of fears As mine, and, leaving, leave their souls no less. But, ah, for me, when spring stands in the door, Take on, I pray, one shade of pink the more. |