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IN THE VATICAN—BEFORE THE APOLLO BELVEDERE.
Wonder and worship! Lo, this place hath grown
Awful with the still presence of the god!
Yonder, behold him, glorious as he trod
The air triumphant. There he breathes in stone
Immortal anger, but not wrath alone,
But radiance that rains violets on the sod,
And calls up amaranth where his feet have trod,
And hyacinths' purple, by his glory sown.
Utter no word! The chamber's air is fill'd
Not with his glory only, but with theirs,
The great of centuries, who here have still'd
Their thoughts and dreams, ambitions, fears and cares.
Who, in the air those radiant splendours gild,
To give one thought to aught less heavenly, dares?
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