From “Sospiri di Roma”
HERE where the sunlight
Floodeth the garden,
Where the pomegranate
Reareth its glory
Of gorgeous blossom;
Where the oleanders
Dream through the noontides;
And, like surf o’ the sea
Round cliffs of basalt,
The thick magnolias
In billowy masses
Front the sombre green of the...
From the Spanish by Benjamin B. Wiffen
Buried in Its Ruins
STRANGER, ’t is vain! midst Rome thou seek’st for Rome
In vain; thy foot is on her throne—her grave:
Her walls are dust; Time’s conquering banners wave
O’er all her hills; hills which themselves entomb.
Yes! the proud Aventine is its own womb;
The royal Palatine is ruin’s...
From “Childe Harold,” Canto IV.
ARCHES on arches! as it were that Rome,
Collecting the chief trophies of her line,
Would build up all her triumphs in one dome,
Her Coliseum stands; the moonbeams shine
As ’t were its natural torches, for divine
Should be the light which streams here, to illume
This long-explored, but still...
From “Childe Harold,” Canto IV.
SIMPLE, erect, severe, austere, sublime,—
Shrine of all saints and temple of all gods,
From Jove to Jesus,—spared and blest by time;
Looking tranquillity, while falls or nods
Arch, empire, each thing round thee, and man plods
His way through thorns to ashes,—glorious dome!
Shalt thou not last?...
Near Rome
THOUGH the hills are cold and snowy,
And the wind drives chill to-day,
My heart goes back to a spring-time,
Far, far in the past away.
And I see a quaint old city,
Weary and worn and brown,
Where the spring and the birds are so early,
And the sun in such light goes down.
I remember that old-time villa...
When Roman fields are red with cyclamen,
And in the palace gardens you may find,
Under great leaves and sheltering briony-bind,
Clusters of cream-white violets, oh then
The ruined city of immortal men
Must smile, a little to her fate resigned,
And through her corridors the slow warm wind
Gush harmonies beyond a mortal ken....
From “Childe Harold,” Canto IV.
VASTNESS which grows, but grows to harmonize,
All musical in its immensities;
Rich marbles, richer painting, shrines where flame
The lamps of gold, and haughty dome which vies
In air with earth’s chief structures, though their frame
Sits on the firm-set ground,—and this the cloud must claim...
1861
over the dumb campagna-sea,
Out in the offing through mist and rain,
Saint Peter’s Church heaves silently
Like a mighty ship in pain,
Facing the tempest with struggle and strain.
Motionless waifs of ruined towers,
Soundless breakers of desolate land!
The sullen surf of the mist devours
That mountain-range...
Venice, thou Siren of sea cities, wrought
By mirage, built on water, stair o’er stair,
Of sunbeams and cloud shadows, phantom-fair,
With naught of earth to mar thy sea-born thought!
Thou floating film upon the wonder-fraught
Ocean of dreams! Thou hast no dream so rare
As are thy sons and daughters,—they who wear
Foam flakes of...
From “Italy”
THERE is a glorious City in the Sea.
The Sea is in the broad, the narrow streets,
Ebbing and flowing; and the salt sea-weed
Clings to the marble of her palaces.
No track of men, no footsteps to and fro,
Lead to her gates. The path lies o’er the Sea,
Invisible; and from the land we went,
As to a floating City,—...
