Italy and Other Poems | ||
81
ON AN ORANGE TREE AT ROME.
Sweet is the vernal roseThat scent the morning gale:
And sweet at day-light close
The silver lily blows,
Filling with fragrant breath the dewy vale.
They flourish, and decay:
They bloom, and, blooming, fail:
Leaf after leaf, fades, falls, and dies away.
Thy morrow, like thy day,
Beholds thee gifted with perpetual growth,
Thee, child and mother both:—
And every season sweet,
Spring, summer, autumn, not in slow advance,
82
But—like the Graces, that in linked dance
Join hand in hand, and wreathe their mingled feet,
With all their treasures, all at once endow'r:
The golden fruit, green leaf, and silver flow'r.
Italy and Other Poems | ||