Giovanni Pascoli

“ Soft strains of viol and lute rose through the air:
From balconies was born the lingering fragrance
Of marjoram and thyme, while all along
The golden broom lined the street with radiance.
Round Brunelleschi’s spire a chattering throng
Of sparrows through each buttressed archway whirred;
Below young lads and maidens raised a song.
Around thee, Santa Maria del Fiore, stirr’d
Such living freshness, such a fragrant spell,
Paulo forgot St. Francis and his word,
And, tempted, in his heart to murmuring fell. ”