"Gently, as roses die, the day declines; On the charmed air there is a hush the while; And delicate are the twilight-tints that smile Upon the summits of the Apennines. The moon is up; and o’er the warm wave shines A faery bridge of light, whose beams beguile The fancy to some far and fortunate isle, Which love in solitude unlonely shrines. The blue night of Italian summer glooms Around us; over the crystalline swell I gaze on Genoa’s spires and palace-domes: City of cities, the superb, farewell! The beautiful, in nature’s bloom, is thine; And Art hath made it deathless and divine!"