From The Hill Of Gardens

The outline of a shadowy city spread Between the garden and the distant hill-- And o'er yon dome the flame-ring lingers still, Set like the glory on an angel's head: The light fades quivering into evening blue Behind the pine-tops on Ianiculum; The swallow whispered to the swallow "come!" And took the sunset on her wings, and flew.

One rift of cloud the wind caught up suspending A ruby path between the earth and sky; Those shreds of gold are angel wings ascending From where the sorrows of our singers lie; They have not found those wandering spirits yet, But seek for ever in the red sunset.

Pass upward angel wings! Seek not for these, They sit not in the cypress-planted graves; Their spirits wander over moonlit waves, And sing in all the singing of the seas; And by green places in the spring-tide showers, And in the re-awakening of flowers.

Some pearl-lipped shell still dewy with sea foam Bear back to whisper where their feet have trod; They are the earth's for evermore; fly home! And lay a daisy at the feet of God.