I rode one evening with Count Maddalo Upon the bank of land which breaks the flow Of Adria towards Venice: a bare strand Of hillocks, heaped from ever-shifting sand, Matted with thistles and amphibious weeds, _5 Such as from earth's embrace the salt ooze breeds, Is this; an uninhabited sea-side, Which the lone fisher, when his nets are dried, Abandons; and no other object breaks The waste, but one dwarf tree and some few stakes _10 Broken and unrepaired, and the tide makes A narrow space of level sand thereon, Where 'twas our wont to ride while day went down. This ride was my delight. I love all waste And solitary places; where we taste _15 The pleasure of believing what we see Is boundless, as we wish our souls to be: And such was this wide ocean, and this shore More barren than its billows; and yet more Than all, with a remembered friend I love _20 To ride as then I rode;--for the winds drove The living spray along the sunny air Into our faces; the blue heavens were bare, Stripped to their depths by the awakening north; And, from the waves, sound like delight broke forth _25 Harmonising with solitude, and sent Into our hearts aereal merriment. So, as we rode, we talked; and the swift thought, Winging itself with laughter, lingered not, But flew from brain to brain,--such glee was ours, _30 Charged with light memories of remembered hours, None slow enough for sadness: till we came Homeward, which always makes the spirit tame. This day had been cheerful but cold, and now The sun was sinking, and the wind also. _35 Our talk grew somewhat serious, as may be Talk interrupted with such raillery As mocks itself, because it cannot scorn The thoughts it would extinguish: --'twas forlorn, Yet pleasing, such as once, so poets tell, _40 The devils held within the dales of Hell Concerning God, freewill and destiny: Of all that earth has been or yet may be, All that vain men imagine or believe, Or hope can paint or suffering may achieve, _45 We descanted; and I (for ever still Is it not wise to make the best of ill?) Argued against despondency, but pride Made my companion take the darker side. The sense that he was greater than his kind _50 Had struck, methinks, his eagle spirit blind By gazing on its own exceeding light. Meanwhile the sun paused ere it should alight, Over the horizon of the mountains;--Oh, How beautiful is sunset, when the glow _55 Of Heaven descends upon a land like thee, Thou Paradise of exiles, Italy! Thy mountains, seas and vineyards, and the towers Of cities they encircle!--it was ours To stand on thee, beholding it: and then, _60 Just where we had dismounted, the Count's men Were waiting for us with the gondola.--