Her bright hair makes a glory in the light,
But her dark eyes, unseeing, bring the night,
Too near!
ROME
So ... only the little things are left to me ...
Cold comforts they!... Beauty my only home.
Drifting of almond bloom ... gray ruins of Rome ...
The Italian sun that makes these old stones warm ...
Lilt of old poems ... sight of a girlish form ...
Gay little laughter ... moon through the cypress trees ...