Dares breathe the Medicean name aloud?
When a man dies, the watchers by the bed
Close down his eye-lids, so is he once dead;
Twice dead is he whose mem'ry men dang down
To dark oblivion when his soul is fled.
Florence forgets her singer, but his song
Still echoes through her streets on autumn nights,
And pausing at the door of some old friend,
Bids him remember all the hope he had
In spacious days, before Lorenzo died . . .