At the British Museum

I TURN the page and read:

“I dream of silent verses where the rhyme

Glides noiseless as an oar.”

The heavy musty air, the black desks,

The bent heads and the rustling noises

In the great dome

Vanish…

And

The sun hangs in the cobalt-blue sky,

The boat drifts over the lake shallows,

The fishes skim like umber shades through the undulating weeds,

The oleanders drop their rosy petals on the lawns,

And the swallows dive and swirl and whistle

About the cleft battlements of Can Grande’s castle.…