(After passing Sirmione, April 1887.) <br /> <br />Sirmio, thou dearest dear of strands <br />That Neptune strokes in lake and sea, <br />With what high joy from stranger lands <br />Doth thy old friend set foot on thee! <br />Yea, barely seems it true to me <br />That no Bithynia holds me now, <br />But calmly and assuringly <br />Around me stretchest homely Thou. <br /> <br />Is there a scene more sweet than when <br />Our clinging cares are undercast, <br />And, worn by alien moils and men, <br />The long untrodden sill repassed, <br />We press the pined for couch at last, <br />And find a full repayment there? <br />Then hail, sweet Sirmio; thou that wast, <br />And art, mine own unrivalled Fair!<br /><br />Thomas Hardy<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/catullus-xxxi/
