A WREATH of light blue vapour, pure and rare, Mounts, scarcely seen against the bluer sky, In quiet adoration, silently -- Till the faint currents of the upper air Dislimn it, and it forms, dissolving there, The dome, as of a palace, hung on high Over the mountain; underneath it lie Vineyards and bays and cities white and fair. Might we not hope this beauty would engage All living things unto one pure delight? Oh vain belief! for here, our records tell, Rome's understanding tyrant from men's sight Hid, as within a guilty citadel, The shame of his dishonourable age. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...FOURTH BOOK OF AIRS: SONG 18 by THOMAS CAMPION A CHRISTMAS CAROL by ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE IDYLLS OF THE KING: PELLEAS AND ETTARRE by ALFRED TENNYSON TO HIS WIFE by DECIMUS MAGNUS AUSONIUS THE STEAM-ENGINE: CANTO 6. ON THE CORK PACKET, 1837 by T. BAKER |