Sonnet

I STOOD and leaned upon a balustrade:
Beneath me lay the gray-roofed city, Rome.
The sun had sunk beneath Saint Peter’s dome,
While all the bells their Ave Mary played.
Sweet music filled the air, and the young moon
Trembled in liquid tenderness on high;
But I was looking northward with a sigh,
And said, “Ah, quiet vale, I greet thee soon!”
Now when the daylight fades I stand and gaze
Upon the silent fields and the dark hills
That close around my lonely home, till fills
My heart with longing for the Roman days.
O longing, changing heart! O world too small!
Would all were one, or one dear place were all!