Clark.
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,
A balmy briskness comes upon the breeze,