The slopes of famed Vesuvius are fair With golden beauty in the golden air. In terraced loveliness they softly rise, Sweet blandishments that melt in sweetest skies. But lo! upon the summit what is this, What horrid apex of a mount of bliss, What fuming, black, bar sinister of grace? Such, lady, is a picture of your face. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...MUSIC by STEPHEN VINCENT BENET FOR ST. BARTHOLOMEW'S EVE by MALCOLM COWLEY DRUMS AND BRASS by DONALD (GRADY) DAVIDSON POETS ARE BORN NOT MADE by ROBERT FROST BONDAGE by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON TO EMILIE BIGELOW HAPGOOD - PHILANTHROPIST by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON |