CCII Sonnet
Lady, I bid thee to a sunny dome,
Ringing with echoes of Italian song:
Henceforth to thee these magic halls belong,
And all the pleasant place is like a home.
Hark, on the right with full piano tone 5
Old Dante’s voice encircles all the air:
Hark yet again, like flute-tones mingling rare,
Comes the keen sweetness of Petrarca’s moan.
Pass thou the lintel freely; without fear
Feast on the music. I do better know thee, 10
Than to suspect this pleasure thou dost owe me
Will wrong thy gentle spirit, or make less dear
That element whence thou must draw thy life—
An English maiden, and an English wife.
Arthur Henry Hallam.