Edmund Ollier (1827–1886)

AND on the top of all the wind-blown towers,

The thronging terraces, and ramparts fair,

And the flat house-roof scorching in the air,

Elysian gardens bloomed with breadths of flowers,

And clouds of moist green leaves, that tenderly

Cooled the fierce radiance sight could scarcely bear;

Or over grassy lawns hung fluttering high,

Like birds upon the wing, half pausing there;

Shadows, where winds drooped lingering with a sigh.

And there were fountains all of beaten gold,

That seemed alive with staring imagery,

Fantastical as death; from which forth rolled,

Like spirits out of Sleep’s enchanted ground,

Far-flashing streams, that flung a light all round.