Thomas Otway, 1651–1685.
SPRING MORNING IN ITALY.
The sun is up, and ’tis a morn of May,
Round old Ravenna’s clear-shown towers and bay;
A morn, the loveliest which the year has seen—
Last of the spring, yet fresh with all its green;
For a warm eve, and gentle rains at night,
Have left a sparkling welcome for the light;
And there’s a crystal clearness all about;
The leaves are sharp; the distant hills look out;