That vice should harbour in a breast so pure.
JAMES HOWELL.
SAN FRANCESCO DEL DESERTO
Two years have gone since on this desert place
We landed, she and I, alone, at one;
But now the wild sea-marshes have no grace,
For she who made their beauty—she is gone.
That day the island in the afternoon
Shone like a gem, and on its point the pine
Kept steadfast watch, while in the clear lagoon