File:Florence in poetry, history and art (1913) (14763447045).jpg

Identifier: florenceinpoetry00ryan (find matches)
Title: Florence in poetry, history and art
Year: 1913 (1910s)
Authors: Ryan, Sara Agnes
Subjects:
Publisher: Chicago, Mayer and Miller Co.
Contributing Library: Robarts - University of Toronto
Digitizing Sponsor: University of Toronto

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age,Long be it mine to con thy mazy page,Where, half conceald, the eye of fancy viewsFauns, nymphs, and winged saints, all graciousto thy muse! Still in thy garden let me watch their pranks,And see in Dians vest between the ranksOf the trim vines, some maid that half believesThe vestal fires, of which her lover grieves,With that sly satyr peeping through theleaves! —Samuel Taylor Coleridge. The opening scene of the Decameron wasplaced before the Church of Santa Maria No-vello: Let us in thought pursue (what can we bet-ter?)Those who assembled there at matin-time;Who, when vice revelled and along the streetTables were set, what time the bearers bellEang to demand the dead at every door,Came out into the meadows; and, awhileWandering in idleness, but not in folly,Sate down in the high grass and in the shadeOf many a tree, sun-proof, day after day,When all was still and nothing to be heard,But the cicalas voice among the olives,Relating in a ring to banish care,Their hundred tales. 124
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J. Wai.ircz Boccaccio. Round the green hill they went,Round underneath, first to a splendid house,Gherardi, as an old tradition runs,That on the left, just rising from the vale;A place for luxury,—the painted rooms,The open galleries and middle courtNot unprepared, fragrant and gay with flowers.Then westward to another, nobler still yet;That on the right, now known as the Palmiere,Where art with nature vied,—a paradiseWith verdurous walls, and many a trellised walkAll rose and jasmine, many a twilight gladeCrossed by the deer. Then to the Ladies Vale;And the clear lake, that as by magic seemedTo lift up to the surface every stoneOf luster there, and the diminutive fishInnumerable, dropt with crimson and gold,Now motionless, now glancing to the sun.Who has not dwelt on their voluptuous day?The morning banquet by the fountain-side,While the small birds rejoiced in every bough;The dance that followed, and the noontide slum-ber;Then the tales told in turn, as round they layOn carpets,

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