Where the almond blossoms first,
Where the nectarines are nursed,
Grew with cedar and with pine,
Grew with violet and vine,
With her brows of calm,
And her eyes divine,
With her breath of balm,
And her blush like wine,
Brownie Belle, of the Esquiline.

Grew in grace,
Like the blue glycine;
Grew in grace,
Like a jessamine;
In stateliness,
Like a Norfolk pine;
With a tender gloom
In her eyes divine,
And her olive bloom
Through her blush like wine;
Grew in grace, —
And I knew the girl,
From her dancing foot
To her floating curl.
Grew in grace, —
And I knew her well,
From the honey-dew
To the nectar-cell;
From the morning mist,
Till the manna fell
On the tents, the lips
Of Israel.

In stateliness, like the star of trees
With the silver lace, from the Indian seas,
When the silver mist
And the stars are met
On her coronet;
On the stately crest of the stateliest
Star-lit Tree-star,
Bright Deodar.

Sweet the air of the Esquiline,
From morning prayer till nuts and wine;
Where the dancing gods of days divine
Might dance on sods embroidered fine
With the richest tints of the ripest wine
Of every land where the sun doth shine.
We'll garner all
Of the bright and sweet;
We'll lay them all
At our Brownie's feet.
We'll gather all for a garland feast,
When the stars recall our star from the East.
When she comes, she comes
With her balm and bloom;
And the tender gloom
Of her eyes shall shine
To crown the lights of the Esquiline.