"Oh softly blew the morning breeze" ["Chiavenna"] [poem]
OH, softly blew the mounting breeze b
Through Chiavennaʼs myrtle trees,
And oʼer the green hillsʼ viny spread,
That rose in many a rounded head
Beneath the Alpine rocks of red.
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And the fresh snow had fallʼn that night,
And sprinkled with its mantle white
The mountain amphitheatre
That rose around us far and near, 1
Though in such far confusion hurled
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They looked to rule oʼer all the world;
And the white clouds seemed to immerse
Another ruined universe.