Giotto’s Campanile
O pulsing heart with voice attuned
To all the soul builds high,
Framing in notes of love divine
A drama of the sky,
Across the Arno’s flowing tide
The notes chime on the air,
Deep as the mysteries of God
And tender as a prayer.
Here, where the Poet of Sorrows dwelt,
Whose altar Love had built,
And framed his morn in dreams so pure
That knew not stain nor guilt:
O Vita Nuova! Earthly Love
Then changed to love Divine;
Transfigured at the wedding-feast,
Earth’s grapes are heavenly wine.
Where cowled monk with soul of fire
Struck vice athwart the face,
With God’s anointed sword of truth
That flashed with beams of grace.
O bitter days of war and strife!
Heaven’s ardor was too great;
The Empire of the earth held sway
And sealed with saddest fate.
Methinks I hear from thy strong lips,
O century-dowered bell!
The story of the Whites and Blacks,
As banners rose or fell;
Methinks I hear an epic voice,
Full of God’s love and power,
With accent of an Exile sad
Speaking from out thy tower!