Back to our early love,—
Our vows of youth at many a shrine,
Whence far and fast we rove.
Welcome high thought and holy strain
That make us Truth’s and Heaven’s again!
THE DYING IMPROVISATORE.[335]
“My heart shall be pour’d over thee—and break.”
Prophecy of Dante.
The spirit of my land,
It visits me once more!—though I must die