The Stone Age

The sun is sultry o'er the marble lands,
Whose milky glimmer branched with glowing gold,
Runs downward to the sea's edge, where untold
Ages the waves with gently lapping hands
Wash into first discoverable sands
The jewelled margin. Round I turn and hold
Within my gaze the shade of forests old.
Each jagged trunk of rock, no wind moves, stands,
And shafts of stony blueness sends far out
Where twinkle starlike blossoms crystalline,
If on their pink profusion the sun slants.
Beneath the merry children dance and shout,
And on me one whom beauty makes divine
Looks with an innocent and curious glance.