 | The improvisatrice; and other poems |  |
I am a daughter of that land,
Where the poet's lip and the painter's hand
Are most divine,—where the earth and sky,
Are picture both and poetry—
I am of Florence. 'Mid the chill
Of hope and feeling, oh! I still
Am proud to think to where I owe
My birth, though but the dawn of woe!
Where the poet's lip and the painter's hand
Are most divine,—where the earth and sky,
Are picture both and poetry—
I am of Florence. 'Mid the chill
Of hope and feeling, oh! I still
Am proud to think to where I owe
My birth, though but the dawn of woe!
| The improvisatrice; and other poems | |