THE SABBATH OF THE CAMPAGNA.
SABBATH of rest broods over the lea—Leaves of the almond and crested pine tree
Fold with their shadows this garment of rest,
Blazing with gold from the passionate west.
"Rest" is the key-note, the language that's spoken,
Not whispered in words, or feeble and broken,
But breathed in soft sighs, like the sobbings of prayer,
Or symphonies played in invisible air.
All is Rest save the sky,—silver shattered the cloud
That built anon temple and battlement proud
On the high mountain peak, or drear chasms that change
With sun-light vagaries that idle may range.
A Sabbath of Rest lies over the waste,
A Sabbath of Peace now fills this calm breast.
