AND was thy home, pale withered thing, Beneath the rich blue southern sky? Wert thou a nursling of the spring, The winds and suns of glorious Italy? Those suns in golden light e'en now, Look o'er the poet's lovely grave; Those winds are breathing soft, but thou Answering their whisper, there no more shalt wave. The flowers o'er Posilippo's brow May cluster in their purple bloom, But on the o'ershadowing ilex-bough, Thy breezy place is void by Virgil's tomb. Thy place is void; oh! none on earth, This crowded earth, may so remain, Save that which souls of loftiest birth Leave when they part, their brighter home to gain. Another leaf, ere now, hath sprung On the green stem which once was thine; When shall another strain be sung Like his whose dust hath made that spot a shrine? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE ABBOT OF INISFALEN by WILLIAM ALLINGHAM TO A SPIRIT (1) by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN HINC LACHRIMAE; OR THE AUTHOR TO AURORA: 11 by WILLIAM BOSWORTH A SONG FOR THE RAGGED SCHOOLS OF LONDON; WRITTEN IN ROME by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING ON THE WAY OF THE CROSS by AMELIA JOSEPHINE BURR THE LORDS' MASQUE: CHORUS (1) by THOMAS CAMPION TOWARDS DEMOCRACY: PART 4. THE SOUL TO THE BODY by EDWARD CARPENTER |