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BELLA.
137
Fairest eyes on earth they be,
Marvellous eyes of Italy;—
Eyes which make the hours go fleeter,
Vita della mia vita!
Marvellous eyes of Italy;—
Eyes which make the hours go fleeter,
Vita della mia vita!
Dreaming, oft again I dwell
In the land I love so well,—
Where the fruited vineyards lie
Smiling at the smiling sky,—
And among the graceful shapes
Gathering the clustered grapes,
Eccolo! she parts the vines,
And a golden arrow shines
Tipped with sunlight, in the rare
Purple blackness of her hair,—
How my glad heart springs to meet her,
Vita della mia vita!
In the land I love so well,—
Where the fruited vineyards lie
Smiling at the smiling sky,—
And among the graceful shapes
Gathering the clustered grapes,
Eccolo! she parts the vines,
And a golden arrow shines
Tipped with sunlight, in the rare
Purple blackness of her hair,—
How my glad heart springs to meet her,
Vita della mia vita!
Ah, no lovelier maid, I ween,
Roams by Tiber's mellow sheen,
Or, with lingering footsteps, strays,
Where the fount of Trevi plays,
Or, with heart devoid of ill,
Muses on the Pincian Hill,
Roams by Tiber's mellow sheen,
Or, with lingering footsteps, strays,
Where the fount of Trevi plays,
Or, with heart devoid of ill,
Muses on the Pincian Hill,
