the studio.
85
Lavish of beauty, prodigally fair,
Wild flowers, whose purple mocks the o'er-arching skies of Rome.
Wild flowers, whose purple mocks the o'er-arching skies of Rome.
No pause, but enter, welcome meet is given,
The pale still Gods look on us grand and calm;
It is the threshold of the Grecian heaven,
And odorous all the air with asphodel and balm.
The pale still Gods look on us grand and calm;
It is the threshold of the Grecian heaven,
And odorous all the air with asphodel and balm.
There shine the Hours, serenely sweet, upborne
On wingèd speed to hail the lord of light;
Here, grave Aurora, pouring from her urn
The soft and fresh'ning dews which part the day and night.
On wingèd speed to hail the lord of light;
Here, grave Aurora, pouring from her urn
The soft and fresh'ning dews which part the day and night.
And thou, young Charioteer with looks of fire,
What quenchless ardour burns within thine eye,
Forgetful in the rush of hot desire,
"Patient is Genius," patient God's eternity!
What quenchless ardour burns within thine eye,
Forgetful in the rush of hot desire,
"Patient is Genius," patient God's eternity!
Thy headlong steeds disdain a rule like thine,
Their fiery nostrils scent the sun afar;
Woe to the hand that would their speed confine,
And, mortal, guide through flaming seas the immortal car!
Their fiery nostrils scent the sun afar;
Woe to the hand that would their speed confine,
And, mortal, guide through flaming seas the immortal car!
