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Arthur Symons - In The Meadows At Mantua
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  But to have lain upon the grass
  One perfect day, one perfect hour,
  Beholding all things mortal pass
  Into the quiet of green grass;

  But to have lain and loved the sun,
  Under the shadow of the trees,
  To have been found in unison,
  Once only, with the blessed sun;

  Ah! in these flaring London nights,
  Where midnight withers into morn,
  How quiet a rebuke it writes
  Across the sky of London nights!

  Upon the grass at Mantua
  These London nights were all forgot.
  They wake for me again: but ah,
  The meadow-grass at Mantua!
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