Now as he strode along the Roman street,
With thoughts of dinner flitting through his soul,
Lifting his eyes he saw upon a sign
The picture of a dove with outspread wings
Above the door of a trattoria,
Which means a place where you can treat yourself
To what you want—that is, a restaurant.
And ’neath the bird he read inscribed in gold:
Spirito Santo; and he gazed at it,
And took an object-lesson, and exclaimed: