{{rh|8|TIVOLI.}}
How often have we past the noon
Beneath thy pine-trees' shade,
When arching bough, and dark green leaf,
A natural temple made;
Haunt of some young divinity,
And more than such she seemed to me.
So very fair, oh! how I blest
The gentle southern clime,
That to the beauty of her cheek
Had brought back summer time.
Alas! 'twas but a little while,—
The promise of an April smile.
Again her clear brow turned too clear;
Her bright cheek turned too bright;
And her eyes, but for tenderness,
Had been too full of light.
It was as if her beauty grew
More heavenly as it heavenward drew.
Long years have past, and toil and care
Have sometimes been to me,
What in my earliest despair
I dream't not they could be;
But here the past comes back again,
Oh! why so utterly in vain?
