Urge me no more!  The mid-day toil is ended,
And shadows lengthen from the radiant west;
The glowing sun, with sumptuous clouds attended,
    Sinks to its rest.

I too would rest; an Indian-Summer beauty
Gilds my life’s autumn in a charming vale;
No further quest of gold or fame seems duty;
    Their splendors pale

Tempt me no more!  In vain are spread before me
New plans of battle and rare hopes of gain;
The sweeter airs of love and peace blow o’er me;
    I will remain.

Gone is the glamour of the heartless city;
Hateful its traffic and its ceaseless roar;
Slaves of its tyranny, you have my pity;
    Urge me no more!

Girdled by mountains, in a land of story,
Nestles the high-walled garden of my home;
Here, book in hand, I feast myself on glory,
    Nor wish to roam.

Each dawn brings rose-hued snow-peaks to my vision;
Each eve’s enchanting pageant thrills my soul;
Day after day I find yet more elysian
    Fair South Tyrol.

Urge me no more!  The riches of Golconda
Could not allure me to the old-time task;
Here, till the curtain falls, to live and ponder
    Is all I ask.

TO MERAN’S NORTHERN MOUNTAINS

Breathe on my soul your everlasting calm,
Majestic mountains, passionless and cold! 
Give to my spirit, drooping ’neath the palm,
The rugged strength your changeless summits hold!

So thin the azure veil that floats between
My tropic flowers and your arctic snows,
That one swift glance reveals to me the sheen
Of your white bastions and my blossoming rose.

Yet, though so near, my feet have never pressed
Your silvered ramparts, etched along the sky: 
Untrodden crystal crowns each spotless crest;
On virgin snows the sunset colors die.

So near, yet unattainable!  Ye seem
Like awful deities, at whose command
Man’s evanescent life,—­a fretful stream,
One instant murmurs and is lost in sand.

Splendid in sunshine, steadfast under storms,
Facing the fiercest tempests with disdain,
The blackest clouds that shroud your giant forms,
Leave on your glittering panoply no stain.

The setting sun will turn your gray to gold,
The dawn will find your icy foreheads bare,
And all your glacial armor, as of old,
Will shine resplendent in the upper air.

So from my life may all dark clouds depart! 
So may I come unscathed from Fate’s worst blows! 
Yet with your strength, O Mountains, let my heart
Retain, as well, the sweetness of the rose.

AT SUNSET

Belov’d Meran, supremely fair! 
With joy I greet thy peaks anew,
And quaff again the crystal air
That fills thy snow-rimmed bowl of blue.

Once more through miles of trellised vines
The purple bloom of vintage glows;
Once more amid my palms and pines
I breathe the perfume of the rose.