So, poet-led, seemeth scarce need of eyes,
Pictured earth’s loveliness in words so wise.
II.
The blinded wanderer sees the far-off light
Of shadowy Alp, and his the lingering glow
That breathes in western skies along the low
And gleaming marshes darkening with the night.
Not bluer to fond eyes that see most clear
Are Naples’ waves than break they in his sight;
Nor floats St. Peter’s dome in softer light,