Page:The Improvisatrice.pdf/47

Rh

I threw me on a couch to rest, Loosely I flung my long black hair; It seemed to soothe my troubled breast To drink the quiet evening air. I looked upon the deep-blue sky, And it was all hope and harmony. Afar I could see the Arno’s stream Glorying in the clear moonbeam; And the shadowy city met my gaze, Like the dim memory of other days; And the distant wood’s black coronal Was like oblivion, that covereth all. I know not why my soul felt sad; I touch’d my lute,—it would not waken, Save to old songs of sorrowing— Of hope betrayed—of hearts forsaken: