The Stone Age

A Fancy

The sun is sultry o'er the marble lands,

Whose milky glimmer branched with glowing gold,

Runs downward to the sea's edge, where untold

Ages the waves with gently lapping hands

Wash into first discoverable sands

The jewelled margin. Round I turn and hold

Within my gaze the shade of forests old.

Each jagged trunk of rock, no wind moves, stands,

And shafts of stony blueness sends far out

Where twinkle starlike blossoms crystalline,

If on their pink profusion the sun slants.

Beneath the merry children dance and shout,

And on me one whom beauty makes divine

Looks with an innocent and curious glance.