Miramar
O MIRAMAR, about your fair white towers,
Weary with weight of the rain-burdened sky,
Like some dark cluster of ill-omened birds
Gather the clouds.
O Miramar, against your granite rocks,
Grey-rising from the grim deeps of the sea
With echoing shriek as of tormented souls
Thunder the waves.
In melancholy shadow of the clouds
Stand, keeping watch above the double gulf,
Turreted cities of the Istrian shore
Gems of the sea.
And all its roaring anger still the sea
Hurls 'gainst the rocky rampart whence you look
Over the Adriatic on both sides,
Hapsburgian hold.
O'er Nabresina thunder bursts and rolls
Along the iron coast; and, lightning-crowned,
Distant Triesté through a mist of showers
Raises her head.
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