Page:Prometheus Bound, and other poems.djvu/141



F English blood, of Tuscan birth,. .

What country should we give her?

Instead of any on the earth,

The civic Heavens receive her.

And here, among the English tombs,

In Tuscan ground we lay her,

While the blue Tuscan sky endomes

Our English words of prayer.

A little child!—how long she lived,

By months, not years, is reckoned:

Born in one July, she survived

Alone to see a second.