At Isola Bella

Once at Isola Bella,
With sunset in the sky,
We stood on the topmost terrace—
You and I.

Around us Lago Maggiore,
Incomparably fair,
Gave back the hues of heaven
To the Italian air.

Then up the marble terrace
Below the cypress trees
Came a flock of milk-white peacocks
With fans spread to the breeze.

Rose-pink on each outspread feather,
Rose-pink upon the crest,—
Never were birds in plumage
So ravishingly drest!

Wherever we walked they followed,
Stately at our feet,
No picture so enchanting
Will any hour repeat.

And here in the murky city
Those milk-white peacocks seem
To follow and follow me ever
Like ghosts of a haunting dream.

Jessie B. Rittenhouse