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: 72 59 61
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RGB: 248 153 121
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RGB: 243 108 105
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RGB: 193 185 171
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RGB: 222 247 206