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Thomas Hardy - Genoa And The Mediterranea
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O epic-famed, god-haunted Central Sea,
   Heave careless of the deep wrong done to thee
When from Torino`s track I saw thy face first flash on me.

   And multimarbled Genova the Proud,
   Gleam all unconscious how, wide-lipped, up-browed,
I first beheld thee clad—not as the Beauty but the Dowd.

   Out from a deep-delved way my vision lit
   On housebacks pink, green, ochreous—where a slit
Shoreward `twixt row and row revealed the classic blue through it.

   And thereacross waved fishwives` high-hung smocks,
   Chrome kerchiefs, scarlet hose, darned underfrocks;
Since when too oft my dreams of thee, O Queen, that frippery mocks:

   Whereat I grieve, Superba! . . . Afterhours
   Within Palazzo Doria`s orange bowers
Went far to mend these marrings of thy soul-subliming powers.

   But, Queen, such squalid undress none should see,
   Those dream-endangering eyewounds no more be
Where lovers first behold thy form in pilgrimage to thee.
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