Paestum, your temples and your streets
Have been restored to view;
Your fadeless Grecian beauty greets
The eyes of men anew.
But where are all your roses now—
Those wonderful delights
That made such garlands for the brow
Of your fair Sybarites?
They in your time were more renown'd,
And dearer to your heart,
Than these fine works which mark the bound
And highest reach of art.
We'd see you as you look'd of old;
Though column, arch and wall
Were worth a kingdom to behold,
One rose would shame them all.
RONDEAU: AN APRIL DAY.
An April day, when skies are blue,
And earth rejoices to renew
Her vernal youth by lawn and lea,
And sap mounts upward in the tree,
And ruddy buds come bursting through;
When violets of tender hue
And trilliums keep the morning dew
Through all the sweet forenoon—give me
An April day;
When surly Winter's roystering crew
Have said the last of their adieux,
And left the fettered river free,
And buoyant hope and ecstasy
Of life awake, my wants are few—
An April day.