Myrtho

I thlnk of you, Myrtho, divine enchantress,
On lofty Posilipo with its thousand fires,
Of your forehead reflecting the radiance of the East,
And black grapes entangled with your golden tress.

In your cup I discovered the rapture of drunkenness,
And in the secret glint of your smiling eye,
When I knelt in prayer before the shrine of Bacchus,
For the Muse has made me one of the sons of Greece.

I know why that volcano is aflame ...
Your light foot, passing, touched it yesterday,
And ashes fell like rain on the horizon.

A Norman duke once smashed your gods of clay;
Since then, beneath the boughs of Virgil's laurel,
Green myrtle and pale hydrangea intertwine.