ROME.

The outline of a shadowy city spread

Between the garden and the distant hill —

And o’ er yon dome the flame-ring lingers still,

Set like the glory on an angel’ s head:

The light fades quivering into evening blue

Behind the pine-tops on Ianiculum;

The swallow whispered to the swallow “come!”

And took the sunset on her wings, and flew.

One rift of cloud the wind caught up suspending

A ruby path between the earth and sky;

Those shreds of gold are angel wings ascending

From where the sorrows of our singers lie;

They have not found those wandering spirits yet,

But seek for ever in the red sunset.

Pass upward angel wings! Seek not for these,

They sit not in the cypress-planted graves;

Their spirits wander over moonlit waves,

And sing in all the singing of the seas;

And by green places in the spring-tide showers,

And in the re-awakening of flowers.

Some pearl-lipped shell still dewy with sea foam

Bear back to whisper where their feet have trod;

They are the earth’ s for evermore; fly home!

And lay a daisy at the feet of God.