In sunlight-tessellated dusk,
I seem to see the fountains twain
Of Hate and Love in Arden, where,
In times of regal Charlemagne,
Great Roland drank and Oliver.
Where, wandered from Montalban's towers,
The paladin, Rinaldo, slept,
While, leaning o'er him through the flowers,
Angelica above him wept.