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Upon a mound of crumbled stone, I spread
My mantle out, and, half reclining there, Petted the dog, and fed him from my pouch,
Then, drowsed by the warm and sluggish air, Fell fast asleep, my dumb friend guarding me.
In fantasy of dreams I saw and heard Some strange and pleasing things of long ago,
And memory caught and treasured every word And sign, of that ecstatic reverie.
The white walls of the villa stood again,
As high and clean as in the days before Decay's first touch had come to start the work
Of ruin, and to break and topple o'er The towers tall, and tear the facades down.
The breath of summer odors floated through The halls and corridors, and fountains sprayed
Cool waters on the tropic plants that grew About their bases, and redoled the air
With rich perfumes, the scent of gaudy bloom Half hid beneath the foliage darkly green,
And silken curtains from far Asia's loom, In graceful drapings screened the portals there.
Yet silence reigned, save the soft sighs of winds That rustled the rich hangings of the walls,
And gently played, in listless, wanton mood, Where flowers bloomed within the frescoed halls.