From Nice to Oneglia
An astonishing view, she regards it with eyes
All astare at its glitter and space. Where the sea,
Creeping up to the cliffs, leaves a foot or two free,
Runs the path she is following with such gay surprise.
A lady, a Countess, whose long flowing habit
Proclaims her as English by every known rule,
Perched up on a deft little mouse-coloured mule
Stepping daintily, softly, as any jack-rabbit.
What a heavenly journey, this coming by land
From Nice to Oneglia, outriding her train!
She is vastly amused — why, even the sand . . .
The mule shies, she pulls him up sharply and sees,
Just over the edge of her tightly held rein,
A skull, water-washed, grimly bright in the breeze.
The guide, coming up, shrugs his shoulders with shady
Indifference, " It's only the pirates, my Lady. "
All astare at its glitter and space. Where the sea,
Creeping up to the cliffs, leaves a foot or two free,
Runs the path she is following with such gay surprise.
A lady, a Countess, whose long flowing habit
Proclaims her as English by every known rule,
Perched up on a deft little mouse-coloured mule
Stepping daintily, softly, as any jack-rabbit.
What a heavenly journey, this coming by land
From Nice to Oneglia, outriding her train!
She is vastly amused — why, even the sand . . .
The mule shies, she pulls him up sharply and sees,
Just over the edge of her tightly held rein,
A skull, water-washed, grimly bright in the breeze.
The guide, coming up, shrugs his shoulders with shady
Indifference, " It's only the pirates, my Lady. "
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