Stevenson, Robert Louis (1850–1894). A Child’s Garden of Verses and Underwoods. 1913.
XIII. To H. F. Brown
I
On cis-Elysian river-shores.
Where the immortal dead have sate,
’T is mine to sit and meditate;
To re-ascend life’s rivulet,
Without remorse, without regret;
And sing my Alma Genetrix
Among the willows of the Styx.
Did these unhappy shores patrol,
And wait with an attentive ear
The coming of the gondolier,
Your fire-surviving roll I took,
Your spirited and happy book;
Whereon, despite my frowning fate,
It did my soul so recreate
That all my fancies fled away
On a Venetian holiday.
Your pages clear as April air,
The sails, the bells, the birds, I know,
And the far-off Friulan snow;
The land and sea, the sun and shade,
And the blue even lamp-inlaid.
For this, for these, for all, O friend,
For your whole book from end to end—
For Paron Piero’s muttonham—
I your defaulting debtor am.
To your sea-paven city hie,
And in a felze, some day yet
Light at your pipe my cigarette.