A Dream of Summer
(after Giosue Carducci)
I dreamed of gentle things. My freshman year,
a room where sun poured in, freedom from books,
the thundering carts on cobbles in the via,
a wreath of sorghum round my neck. To look
out from my window was unbroken joy:
one way those flower-carpeted old hills,
the other, sparkling shoreline: still a boy,
I splashed out on a suit, and shirts with frills!
I'll never know that animal verve again.
I'm sure that glittering sea, those slumbering isles,
were not like now, prosaic. And summer rain,
I swear, on mornings when it caught me, smiled.
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