No heavings hint that winds have been On seas less hideously serene. As if their tops had feebly given A void within the filmy Heaven. And when, amid no earthly moans, Down, down that town shall settle hence, Hell, rising from a thousand thrones, Shall do it reverence. And the grandeur that was Rome. Now each visitor shall confess The sad valley's restlessness.
Nothing save the airs that brood Over the magic solitude.
Eternal dews come down in drops. Perennial tears descend in gems. And the cloud that took the form When the rest of Heaven was blue Of a demon in my view. And this maiden lived with no other thought Than to love and be loved by me. With a love that the winged seraphs of Heaven Coveted her and me.