Canto LXXXIV
Sweet after showers, ambrosial air,That rollest from the gorgeous gloomOf evening over brake and bloomAnd meadow, slowly breathing bare
The round of space, and rapt belowThro’ all the dewy-tassell’d wood,And shadowing down the horned floodIn ripples, fan my brows and blow
The fever from my cheek, and sighThe full new life that feeds thy breathThroughout my frame, till Doubt and Death.Ill brethren, let the fancy fly
From belt to belt of crimson seasOn leagues of odour streaming far,To where in yonder orient starA hundred spirits whisper ‘Peace.’