Glion — Evening

From Glion when the sun declines
The world below is clear to see :
I count the escalading pines
Upon the rocks of Meillerie.

Like a dull bee the steamer plies
And settles on the jutting pier :
The barques, strange sailing butterflies,
Round idle headlands idly veer.

The painted sceneries recall
Such toil as Canaletto spent
To give each brick upon each wall
Its due partition of cement.

Yet rather seem those lands below
From Glion at the close of day
As vivid as a cameo
Graved by the poet Gautier.