From this high portal, where upsprings <br />The rose to touch our hands in play, <br />We at a glance behold three things-- <br />The Sea, the Town, and the Highway. <br /> <br />And the Sea says: My shipwrecks fear; <br />I drown my best friends in the deep; <br />And those who braved icy tempests, here <br />Among my sea-weeds lie asleep! <br /> <br />The Town says: I am filled and fraught <br />With tumult and with smoke and care; <br />My days with toil are overwrought, <br />And in my nights I gasp for air. <br /> <br />The Highway says: My wheel-tracks guide <br />To the pale climates of the North; <br />Where my last milestone stands abide <br />The people to their death gone forth. <br /> <br />Here, in the shade, this life of ours, <br />Full of delicious air, glides by <br />Amid a multitude of flowers <br />As countless as the stars on high; <br /> <br />These red-tiled roofs, this fruitful soil, <br />Bathed with an azure all divine, <br />Where springs the tree that gives us oil, <br />The grape that giveth us the wine; <br /> <br />Beneath these mountains stripped of trees, <br />Whose tops with flowers are covered o'er, <br />Where springtime of the Hesperides <br />Begins, but endeth nevermore; <br /> <br />Under these leafy vaults and walls, <br />That unto gentle sleep persuade; <br />This rainbow of the waterfalls, <br />Of mingled mist and sunshine made; <br /> <br />Upon these shores, where all invites, <br />We live our languid life apart; <br />This air is that of life's delights, <br />The festival of sense and heart; <br /> <br />This limpid space of time prolong, <br />Forget to-morrow in to-day, <br />And leave unto the passing throng <br />The Sea, the Town, and the Highway<br /><br />Henry Wadsworth Longfellow<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/on-the-terrace-of-the-aigalades-from-the-french-of-m-ry/
