O'er the Campagna it is dim warm weather; The Spring comes with a full heart silently, And many thoughts; a faint flash of the sea Divides two mists; straight falls the falling feather.
With wild Spring meanings hill and plain together Grow pale, or just flush with a dust of flowers. Rome in the ages, dimmed with all her towers, Floats in the midst, a little cloud at tether.
I fain would put my hands about thy face, Thou with thy thoughts, who art another Spring, And draw thee to me like a mournful child.
Thou lookest on me from another place; I touch not this day's secret, nor the thing That in the silence makes thy sweet eyes wild.
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