The hot scirocco of an angry pain
Blew me into the street.
The unveiled heights of sapphire overhead
Dazzled the lifted eyes;
The sun, in lovely splendor, blazed from out
The keystone of the skies;
And Rome sat glowing on her seven hills,
Yellow with fervid heat,
And scorched the green Campagna, where it crept
And clung about her feet.