Classic Poem

Late in the wintry skies the light-giver
Wan hosts of shadows was slowly o'erthrowing:
Down the long furrows, where tender blades shiver,
Green 'neath the sunbeams ploughlands were glowing.

Floating by smoothly ran Po's royal river,
Sparkling in sunlight the Mincio was flowing:
Then did my soul's white dream-pinions quiver
Oped toward a fantasy wondrously growing.

And in the mellow mild glory shining
From that calm fata morgana the early
Days of youth rose in my heart, dimly seen:

Rose without memories, without repining,
Like a green island that looms through a pearly
Haze in the distance far off and serene.