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Updated: May 12, 2025
I lov'd her from my boyhood she to me Was as a fairy city of the heart, Rising like water-columns from the sea, Of joy the sojourn, and of wealth the mart; And Otway, Radcliffe, Schiller, Shakspeare's art Had stamp'd her image in me, and ever so, Although I found her thus, we did not part, Perchance even dearer in her day of woe Than when she was a boast, a marvel, and a show.
I mean the water-columns which are such a feature in the country round Palermo, and in other places where the system of irrigation introduced by the Moorish invaders is still kept up.
One by one half-forgotten fragments of Byron came back to me as I looked out across the wide lagoon. I thought of Venice "throned on her hundred Isles," of him who said, "I loved her from my boyhood; she to me Was as a fairy city of the heart, Rising like water-columns from the sea, Of joy the sojourn and of wealth the mart."
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