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Arthur Symons - Villa Borghese
Work rating: Low

A grace of winter breathing like the spring; 
Solitude, silence, the thin whispering 
Of water in the fountains, that all day 
Talk with the leaves; the winds, gentle as they, 
Rustle the silken garments of their speech 
Rarely, for they keep silence, each by each, 
The dim green silence of the dreaming trees, 
Cypress and pine and the cloaked ilexes, 
That winter never chills; and all these keep 
A sweet and grave and unawakening sleep, 
Reticent of its dreams, but hearing all 
The babble of the fountains as they fall, 
Chattering bright and irresponsible words 
As in a baby-speech of liquid birds.
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