From Glion when the sun declines
  The world below is clear to see:
I count the escalading pines
  Upon the rocks of Meillerie.

Like a dull bee the steamer plies
  And settles on the jutting pier :
The barques, strange sailing butterflies,
  Round idle headlands idly veer.

The painted sceneries recall
  Such toil as Canaletto spent
To give each brick upon each wall
  Its due partition of cement.

Yet rather seem those lands below
  From Glion at the close of day
As vivid as a cameo
  Graved by the poet Gautier.