Swift without violence, without terror great.
Their blooming wreaths from fair Valclusa's bowers
To Arno's myrtle border.
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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.
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RGB: 206 181 167
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RGB: 234 239 177
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RGB: 249 160 63
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RGB: 247 212 136
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RGB: 233 247 202