Songs of A Wayfarer | ||
CXXX. MORNING ON THE PINCIAN HILL.
Pilgrims grown grey in search of happinessLay down your scrip and staff and rest awhile
To see how clear and blue the heavens smile
Between these palms and lofty cypresses;
Whilst, like a bride whose beauty is not less
For that which half conceals it, dome and tile
And campanile stretched for many a mile
Are veiled in mist of perfect peacefulness;
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Glad children shout, on merry pastime bent:
The roses round exhaling as they blow,
For bounty of the time, their sweetest scent:
The great gun thunders from Saint Angelo:
The river glides along in calm content.
Rome, January 15, 1868.
Songs of A Wayfarer | ||