 | Italy and Other Poems |  |
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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,
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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.
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