Is granted us, nor yet will Hell’s deep heart
Receive us, but in this dim borderland
We dwell, and follow here our hollow art
Of weaving tales, and are in semblance gay,
Moved by a might we never may withstand.
To our own dear delights we turned away;
Forgot the city full of tears, forgot
The tolling bells, abandoned even to pray;
But couched in some delectable safe spot
Saw breezy olives whiten like the sea,