Uprose before our wondering eyes.
Above, mantled in its own loveliness,
Calling us sweetly from the bay
Up to its gentle, vine-clothed heights,
Sat radiant Casamicciola.
How thou and I the glad days spent
Thou knowest well. And now?
Now all is ruin and decay,
A ghastly tomb. We’ll let it rest.
Think rather of the linkèd lives