Villa Serbelloni, Bellaggio

A poem by Sara Teasdale

The fountain shivers lightly in the rain,
The laurels drip, the fading roses fall,
The marble satyr plays a mournful strain
That leaves the rainy fragrance musical.

Oh dripping laurel, Phoebus sacred tree,
Would that swift Daphne's lot might come to me,
Then would I still my soul and for an hour
Change to a laurel in the glancing shower.

Reader Comments

Tell us what you think of 'Villa Serbelloni, Bellaggio' by Sara Teasdale

comments powered by Disqus