Are bartered to the careful Israelite,—
Or left to perish, stone by stone, worn down
In desolation, solemn skeletons,
Whose nakedness some tufts of pitying grass,
Or green boughs trembling o’er the tumbling wall,
Adorn but hide not.
And are these things true.
Miraculous Venice? Is the charm then past
Away from thee? Is all thy work fulfilled
Of power and beauty? Art thou gathered