 | Measured Steps |  |
16
[So there lies Florence; Fiésole there]
So there lies Florence; Fiésole there;And Giotto's tower, and Brunelleschi's dome,
God-sent to troubled spirits for a home,
Sleep in her midst incomparably fair.
Most fair, and proudest city! Thou didst dare
To exile Dante! He might die, or roam
Dead-hearted; nor tears, nor the froth and foam
Of bitter hate, nor the cry of his despair
Fair Florence heeded! And Dante turned,
And wasted life, endeavouring to move
The cold decree. Often his keen eyes strained
Towards his lost home, and his great heart yearned
Towards her. In the bosom she had pained,
With fierce wrath and scorn, was quenchless love.
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