BASKING

Give me a spot in the sun,

With a lizard basking by me,

In Sicily, over the sea,

Where Winter is sweet as Spring,

Where Etna lifts his plume

Of curling smoke to try me,

But all in vain for I will not climb

His height so ravishing.

Give me a spot in the sun,

So high on a cliff that, under,

Far down, the flecking sails

Like white moths flit the blue;

That over me on a crag

There hangs, O aery wonder,

A white town drowsing in its nest

That cypress-tops peep thro.

Give me a spot in the sun,

With contadini singing,

And a goat-boy at his pipes

And donkey bells heard round

Upon steep mountain paths

Where a peasant cart comes swinging

Mid joyous hot invectives — that

So blameless here abound.

Give me a spot in the sun,

In a land whose speech is flowers,

Whose breath is Hybla-sweet,

Whose soul is still a faun's,

Whose limbs the sea enlaps,

Thro long delicious hours,

With liquid tenderness and light

Sweet as Elysian dawns.

Give me a spot in the sun

With a view past vale and villa,

Past grottoed isle and sea

To Italy and the Cape

Around whose turning lies

Old heathen-hearted Scylla,

Whom may an ancient sailor prayed

The gods he might escape.

Give me a spot in the sun:

With sly old Pan as lazy

As I, ever to tempt me

To disbelief and doubt

Of all gods else, from Jove

To Bacchus born wine-crazy.

Give me, I say, a spot in the sun,

And Realms I'll do without!