82
THE IMPROVISATRICE.
Like constant tears. The winter came;
But still the green tree stood the same.
And it was said, at evening's close,
A sound of whispered music rose;
That 'twas the trace of viewless feet
Made the flowers more than flowers sweet.
At length Leades died. That day,
Bark and green foliage past away
From the lone tree,—again a thing
Of wonder and of perishing!
One evening I had roamed beside
The winding of the Arno's tide;
The sky was flooded with moonlight:
Below were waters azure bright,
