For the sword outwears its sheath, and the soul wears out the breast.

The dome of Thought, the palace of the Soul.

The light of love, the purity of grace,
The mind, the Music breathing from her face,
The heart whose softness harmonised the whole —
And, oh! that eye was in itself a Soul!

O Rome! my country! city of the soul!

All who joy would win
Must share it -- Happiness was born a twin.

On with the dance! let joy be unconfin'd