Page:The poems of Emma Lazarus volume 1.djvu/49

Rh &quot; and the far-away past, that seems so sad and strange and near. I am even out of humor with pictures; a bit of broken stone or a fragment of a bas-relief, or a Corinthian column standing out against this lapis-lazuli sky, or a tremendous arch, are the only things I can look at for the moment,—except the Sistine Chapel, which is as gigantic as the rest, and forces itself upon you with equal might.&quot;

Already, in February, spring is in the air; &quot;the almond-trees are in bloom, violets cover the grass, and oh! the divine, the celestial, the unheard-of beauty of it all!&quot; It is almost a pang to her, &quot; with its strange mixture of longing and regret and delight,&quot; and in the midst of it she says, &quot; I have to exert all my strength not to lose myself in morbidness and depression.&quot;

Early in March she leaves Rome, consoled with the thought of returning the following winter. In June she was in England again, and spent the summer at Malvern. Disease was no doubt already beginning to prey upon her, for she was oppressed at times by a languor and heaviness amounting almost to lethargy. When she returned to London, however, in September, she felt quite well again, and started for another tour in Holland, which she enjoyed as much as before. She then settled in Paris to await the time when she could leave for Italy. But she was attacked at once with grave and alarming symptoms, that betokened a fatal end to her malady. Entirely ignorant, however, of the