THE heat of summer day is sped; On far Mont Rose the sun is red;
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And mark you Milanʼs marble pile Glow with the mellow rays awhile! Lo, there relieved,
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his front so high
On the blue sky of Italy! While higher still above him bear, And slender in proportion fair, Fretted with Gothic carving well, Full many a spiry pinnacle;
And dazzling bright as Rosaʼs crest, Each with his sculptured statue prest, They seem to stand in that thin air As on a thread of gossamer.
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You think the evening zephyrʼs play