Ah! fair Baveno, well do I recall
How, when Pallanza burned and writhed with
Cool shadows fell right downward to thy feet;
And I, who dreamed beside thy water-wall,
Felt the magnolia’s incense prodigal
Poured from white cups upon the garden-seat,
The vine flowers’ scent impalpable and sweet,
And honeysuckle, sweetest of them all.
But most in that enchanting dewy hour
I blessed the odours from that pearl of grey
That breaks into the semblance of a star,
For then the day came near, that was so far,
When one beside me bare white orange-flower,
And all the world seemed made for marriage day.
(Sonnets in Switzerland and Italy, p. 57)