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Poems

By W. C. Bennett: New ed
  

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AT ROME—ON THE PINCIAN HILL.
  
  
  
  
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AT ROME—ON THE PINCIAN HILL.

Sweet were those sunsets from the Pincian seen,
When day died westward from the hills of Rome,
To rise in glory on your far dear home
And the loved paths from which your feet have been
So long. Oh, then remember'd was the scene
Before you? Did not, from its wonders, roam
Memory and love, across the wild far foam,
To nestle fondly 'neath your vines' dear green,

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And the flush'd roses that hang trailing o'er
Your Boston casements, looking for each face
Familiar once there, now there seen no more?
Ah, dear will be the hours that, the sweet grace
Of those loved rooms, to your worn eyes restore,
That in them find your feet a resting-place.