SAY not that Arno's vale is fair, And Florence fair and good to see, Until from far Fiesole You view them, bright through cloudless air! What skies are like Italian skies? Where do the olive and the vine With larger wealth of fruitage shine Than here, beneath the ravished eyes! Love you not Arno's tawny gold? Feel you not somehow near akin To Florence, with her woe and sin, And all the deeds she wrought of old? How great her gifts! Her open heart Has yielded much to bless mankind, And in her bosom still we find A precious treasure-house of art. And thou, Fiesole, and thou, O'er all her glory leaning down, With thy serene monastic crown, And morning on thine ancient brow, Thou art her guardian, smiling sweet Upon her, as upon a child A mother fond has ever smiled, Her child at play about her feet! Keep watchful ward above her still With prescience of the vast To-be! Look down the years, Fiesole, From off thy spirit-haunted hill! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE PLANTATION CHILD'S LULLABY by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR LUCIFER IN STARLIGHT by GEORGE MEREDITH MAIDEN MELANCHOLY by RAINER MARIA RILKE ENGLAND IN 1819 by PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY ENOCH ARDEN by ALFRED TENNYSON BEAUTIFUL WOMEN by WALT WHITMAN |