Page:The city of dreadful night - and other poems (IA cityofdreadfulni00thomrich).pdf/169

 Keats and Shelley sleep at Rome, She in well-loved Tuscan earth; Finding all their death's long home. Far from their old home of birth. Italy, you hold in trust Very sacred English dust.

Therefore this one prayer I breathe,— That you yet may worthy prove Of the heirlooms they bequeath Who have loved you with such love: Fairest land while land of slaves Yields their free souls no fit graves.