Canto LXXXIV

Sweet after showers, ambrosial air,

      That rollest from the gorgeous gloom

      Of evening over brake and bloom

And meadow, slowly breathing bare

The round of space, and rapt below

      Thro' all the dewy-tassell'd wood,

      And shadowing down the horned flood

In ripples, fan my brows and blow

The fever from my cheek, and sigh

      The full new life that feeds thy breath

      Throughout my frame, till Doubt and Death.

Ill brethren, let the fancy fly

From belt to belt of crimson seas

      On leagues of odour streaming far,

      To where in yonder orient star

A hundred spirits whisper 'Peace.'