Page:The Poems of Oscar Wilde.pdf/28

 Doth nought remain of all thy glorious days,

But a dull shield, a crown of withered bays!

Yet who beneath this night of wars and fears,

From tranquil tower can watch the coming years;

Who can foretell what joys the day shall bring,

Or why before the dawn the linnets sing?

Thou, even thou, mayst wake, as wakes the rose

To crimson splendour from its grave of snows;

As the rich corn-fields rise to red and gold

From these brown lands, now stiff with Winter's cold;

As from the storm-rack comes a perfect star!

O much-loved city! I have wandered far

From the wave-circled islands of my home;

Have seen the gloomy mystery of the Dome

Rise slowly from the drear Campagna's way,

Clothed in the royal purple of the day:

I from the city of the violet crown

Have watched the sun by Corinth's hill go down,

And marked the 'myriad laughter' of the sea

From starlit hills of flower-starred Arcady;

Yet back to thee returns my perfect love,

As to its forest-nest the evening dove.

O poet's city! one who scarce has seen

Some twenty summers cast their doublets green, 14