Edward Robert Bulwer Lytton, Earl of Lytton

A Night In Italy

SWEET are the rosy memories of the lips
   That first kiss'd ours, albeit they kiss no more:
Sweet is the sight of sunset-sailing ships,
   Altho' they leave us on a lonely shore:
Sweet are familiar songs, tho' Music dips
   Her hollow shell in Thought's forlornest wells:
   And sweet, tho' sad, the sound of midnight bells
When the oped casement with the night-rain drips.

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