Then roses were showered before your feet,
And her lily-crowned gonfalons waved above,
And children chanted in square and street,
‘All hail to the Monarch may free men greet,
Whose sceptre is Peace, and whose Throne is Love.’
VI
And now that each snow-torrent foams and falls,
And the oreoles sing and the skylarks soar,
And the lithe swallow circles her rose-white walls,
Through the clefts of the Apennine Florence calls,