The Awakening of the Soul
There’s a palace in Florence, the world knows well,
And a statue watches it from the square,
And this story of both do our townsmen tell.
Ages ago, a lady there,
At the farthest window facing the East
Asked, Who rides by with the royal air?
That selfsame instant, underneath,
The Duke rode past in his idle way
Empty and fine like a swordless sheath.
He looked at her, as a lover can;
She looked at him as one who awakes:
The past was a sleep, and her life began.
—The Statue and the Bust. Browning