Explore "Avignon" by Maria Lowell on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
The July day grew to a close, the fret of travel passed, / The cool and moonlit court-yard of the inn was gained at last, / Where oleanders greeted us between their stately ranks, / As pink and proud as if they grew on native Indian banks:
Seen from our chamber-window's ledge, they looked more strangely fair, / Like blossomed baskets, lightly poised upon the summer air.