RESTLESSNESS. *

Would I had waked this morn where Florence smiles,

A-bloom with beauty, a white rose full-blown,

Yet rich in sacred dust, in storied stone,

Precious past all the wealth of Indian isles —

From olive-hoary Fiesole to feed

On Brunelleschi's dome my hungry eye,

And see against the lotus-colored sky,

Spring the slim belfry graceful as a reed.

To kneel upon the ground where Dante trod,

To breathe the air of immortality

From Angelo and Raphael — TO BE —

Each sense new-quickened by a demi-god.

To hear the liquid Tuscan speech at whiles,

From citizen and peasant, to behold

The heaven of Leonardo washed with gold —

Would I had waked this morn where Florence smile!

Written before visiting Florence.