Chapter 67 - Sestina 10 (1/2)

Hearing of harvests rotting in the valleys,

Seeing at end of street the barren mountains,

Round corners coming suddenly on water,

Knowing them shipwrecked who were launched for islands,

We honour founders of these starving cities

Whose honour is the image of our sorrow,Which cannot see its likeness in their sorrow

That brought them desperate to the brink of valleys;

Dreaming of evening walks through learned cities

They reined their violent horses on the mountains,

Those fields like sh.i.p.s to castaways on islands,

Visions of green to them who craved for water. They built by rivers and at night the water

Running past windows comforted their sorrow;

Each in his little bed conceived of islands

Where every day was dancing in the valleys

And all the green trees blossomed on the mountains

Where love was innocent, being far from cities. But dawn came back and they were still in cities;

No marvellous creature rose up from the water;

There was still gold and silver in the mountains