Fiesole, Fiesole, Above the Tuscan towers Of grey Firenze at your feet, Your bells have clanged the hours Of dark decades and stirring years -- But now you lie at ease, Fiesole, Fiesole, Among your olive trees. Once, high above the Arno banks, I climbed your hill in spring, And graven as on gold remains That upward wandering. The wild-flowers led me on the slopes Like Ariadne's clue -- And at the crest, Fiesole, I left my heart with you! |