Midnight at Geneva
Francis Turner Palgrave
THE AZURE lake is argent now
Beneath the pale moonshine:
I seek a sign of hope in heaven:
Fair Pole-star! thou art mine.
A thousand other beacons blaze,
I follow thee alone,
Beyond the shadowy Jura range,
The Jura and the Rhone;
Beyond the purpling vineyards trim
Of sunny Clos Vougeot;
Beyond where Seine’s brown waves beneath
The Norman orchards go;
Till, where the silver waters wash
The white-walled northern isle,
My heart outruns these laggart limbs
To the long-sighed-for smile.
