And wonder of the world, whose spiky top
Has wounded the thick cloud.
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Visits these eyes, waking at once I cry,
Whence this excess of joy? What has befallen me?
And from within a thrilling voice replies,
Thou art in Rome! A thousand busy thoughts
Rush on my mind, a thousand images;
And I spring up as girt to run a race!
HEX: #3C2718
RGB: 60 39 24
RGB: 60 39 24
HEX: #76472F
RGB: 118 71 47
RGB: 118 71 47
HEX: #005549
RGB: 0 85 73
RGB: 0 85 73
HEX: #BC5133
RGB: 188 81 51
RGB: 188 81 51
HEX: #879060
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RGB: 135 144 96
And, to be great indeed, forget
The nauseous pleasures of the great:
Make haste and come:
Come, and forsake thy cloying store;
Thy turret that surveys, from high,
The smoke, and wealth, and noise of Rome;
And all the busy pageantry
That wise men scorn, and fools adore:
Come, give thy soul a loose, and taste the pleasures of the poor.
