And, (Lake) Como ! thou, a treasure whom the earth / Keeps to herself, confined as in a depth / Of Abyssinian privacy. I spake / Of thee, thy chestnu… - Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

" "

And, (Lake) Como ! thou, a treasure whom the earth / Keeps to herself, confined as in a depth / Of Abyssinian privacy. I spake / Of thee, thy chestnut woods, and garden plots / Of Indian-corn tended by dark-eyed maids; / Thy lofty steeps, and pathways roofed with vines, / Winding from house to house, from town to town, / Sole link that binds them to each other ; walks, / League after league, and cloistral avenues, / Where silence dwells if music be not there: / While yet a youth undisciplined in verse, / Through fond ambition of that hour, I strove / To chant your praise ; nor can approach you now / Ungreeted by- a more melodious song, / Where tones of nature smoothed by learned art / May flow in lasting current. Like a breeze / Or sunbeam over your domain I passed / In motion without pause; but ye have left / Your beauty with me, a serene accord / Of forms and colors, passive, yet endowed / In their subinissivencss with power as sweet / And gracious, almost might I dare to say, / As virtue is, or goodness; sweet as love, / Or the remembrance of a generous deed, / Or mildest visitation of pure thought, / When God, the giver of all joy, is thanked / Religiously, in silent blessedness; / Sweet as this last herself, for such it is.