The Boat on the Serchio

Our boat is asleep on Serchio's stream, Its sails are folded like thoughts in a dream, The helm sways idly, hither and thither; Dominic, the boatman, has brought the mast, And the oars, and the sails; but 'tis sleeping fast, Like a beast, unconscious of its tether. The stars burnt out in the pale blue air, And the thin white moon lay withering there; To tower, and cavern, and rift, and tree, The owl and the bat fled drowsily.…