Part IV.
Broken Links




Low in the West, a banner floating wide
Of God's own colors hangs in dreamy pride;
A wealth of purple stains and gleams of gold,
A crimson splendor o'er each waving fold;
A heap of gold--a rim of amethyst,
A hanging cloud by glancing sunbeams kissed.
Afar upon the tinted, azure skies
A tiny cloud of rosy color lies;
A coral on a velvet robe of blue,
A warm, bright wave upon the skies' pale hue.
Oh! such the sunset sky of Italy,
The land of dreams, of love and melody;
The country of the passions and the heart,
The mother of th' ideal and of art.

Oh, painter! still your heart's wild throb and cry,
You cannot paint this sunset tough you try;
The canvas cannot rival Nature's skies,
Before her hand each human effort dies.
Oh! you must dip your brush in waves of gold
If you would paint for me that amber fold.
Oh! poet, seize your pen--'tis all in vain,
You cannot paint in words that crimson stain;