| |
| VERONA! thy tall gardens stand erect | |
| Beckoning me upward. Let me rest awhile | |
| Where the birds whistle hidden in the boughs, | |
| Or fly away when idlers take their place, | |
| Mated as well, concealed as willingly; | 5 |
| Idlers whose nest must not swing there, but rise | |
| Beneath a gleamy canopy of gold, | |
| Amid the flight of Cupids, and the smiles | |
| Of Venus ever radiant o’er their couch. | |
| Here would I stay, here wander, slumber here, | 10 |
| Nor pass into that theatre below | |
| Crowded with their faint memories, shades of joy. | |
| But ancient song arouses me; I hear | |
| Coelius and Anfilena; I behold | |
| Lesbia, and Lesbia’s linnet at her lip | 15 |
| Pecking the fruit that ripens and swells out | |
| For him whose song the Graces loved the most, | |
| Whatever land, east, west, they visited. | |
| Even he must not detain me: one there is | |
| Greater than he, of broader wing, of swoop | 20 |
| Sublimer. Open now that humid arch | |
| Where Juliet sleeps the quiet sleep of death, | |
And Romeo sinks aside her.
Fare ye well, | |
| Lovers! Ye have not loved in vain: the hearts | |
| Of millions throb around ye. This lone tomb | 25 |
| One greater than yon walls have ever seen, | |
| Greater than Manto’s prophet eye foresaw | |
| In her own child or Rome’s, hath hallowed; | |
| And the last sod or stone a pilgrim knee | |
Shall press (Love swears it, and swears true) is here.
THE END. | 30 |
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