How can ye bloom sae fresh and fair;
How can ye chant, ye little birds,
And I sae weary fu' o' care!
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With queenly tread;
Thou hast proud fanes above
Thy mighty dead.
Yet wears thy Tiber's shore
A mournful mien:-
Rome, Rome, thou art no more
As thou hast been.
HEX: #1F1C15
RGB: 31 28 21
RGB: 31 28 21
HEX: #4C4334
RGB: 76 67 52
RGB: 76 67 52
HEX: #0D0C08
RGB: 13 12 8
RGB: 13 12 8
HEX: #8B7B5A
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RGB: 139 123 90
HEX: #DACEB8
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RGB: 218 206 184
By Clyde's meandering stream,
When Sol in joy is seen to leave
The earth with crimson beam;
When islands that wandered far
Above his sea couch lie,
And here and there some gem-like star
Re-opes its sparkling eye.
