"O that I were lying under the olives! So should I see the far-off cities Glittering low by the purple water, Gleaming high on the purple mountain; See where the road goes winding southward. It passes the valleys of almond blossom, Curves round the crag o’er the steep-hanging orchards, Where almond and peach are aflush ’mid the olives— Hardly the amethyst sea shines through them— Over it cypress on solemn cypress Lead to the lonely pilgrimage places."