Boy on the almond bough,
Clinging against the wind,
A-sway from foot to brow,
With the emerald sea behind;
The illimitable blue,
The lone tree, and you!

Aloft gleams Etna's snow
In the bright weather;
The green surf boils below,
Vast crests together;
On the high hillside we
Plunder the blowing tree.

Boy of the mountain-cave
Beside the flower-hung pool;
What snowy torrents lave
The bather beautiful!
And the waters drip all over
The sun glistening on their lover.

O blithest in the tavern,
Dark head above the wine;
Blooms in the dingy cavern
A creature of the vine;
Vine-bloom upon his glowing cheeks,
And from soft eyes the vine-light speaks.

He sports; what youthful blisses
Of trifles there befell!
Magic the poet misses
The Bacchic boy could spell;
He stuck red cherries in his ears,—
He smiled,—and slew three thousand years.

Once in the lone wood
Beyond the long red clover;—
Sombre, in solitude,
The gray rock hung far over;
The parting bushes prest
Their young leaves to his breast.

Dear heart! how had he learned
The world's magnetic soul?
Sudden on me he turned,
While the rose twilight stole
Over shy features bright,
A face all love and light.

Fond boy, art cannot limn thee,
Bud of the white dawn's hour;
And language doth but dim thee,
Youth's violet, Etna's flower;
But I will bear thy face with me
As far as shines eternity.