August

For August, be your dwelling thirty towers

Within an Alpine valley mountainous,

Where never the sea-wind may vex your house,

But clear life separate, like a star, be yours.

There horses shall wait saddled at all hours,

That ye may mount at morn or at eve;

On each hand either ridge ye shall perceive,

A mile apart, which soon a good beast scours.

So alway, drawing homewards, ye shall tread

Your valley parted by a rivulet

Which day and night shall flow sedate and smooth.

There all through noon ye may possess the shade,

And there your open purses shall entreat

The best of Tuscan cheer to feed your youth.