Tuscan Olives
iii.
We climbed one morning to the sunny height
Where chestnuts grow no more and olives grow;
Far-off the circling mountains cinder-white,
The yellow river and the gorge below.
"Turn round," you said, O flower of Paradise;
I did not turn, I looked upon your eyes.
"Turn round," you said, "turn round and see the view!"
I did not turn, my Love, I looked at you.
iv.
How hot it was ! Across the white-hot wall
Pale olives stretch towards the blazing street;
You broke a branch, you never spoke at all.
But gave it me to fan with in the heat;
You gave it me without a sign or word.
And yet, my dear, I think you knew I heard.
You gave it me without a word or sign:
Under the olives first I called you mine.
v.
At Lucca, for the autumn festival.
The streets are tulip-gay; but you and I
Forgot them, seeing over church and wall
Guinigi's tower soar i' the black-blue sky;
A stem of delicate rose against the blue;
And on the top two lonely olives grew,
Crowning the tower, far from the hills, alone;
As on our risen love our lives are grown.
vi.
Who would have thought we should stand again together,
Here, with the convent a frown of towers above us;
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