I wandered through the laurels on Arno's banks.
“In vain you look for me
'Mong your poor household gods—
No Bice Portinari—I am the Idea!”
Juvenilia.
XXXVI “A questi dí prima io la vidi. Uscia”
These were the days when first I saw her growing
Like bud to flower in the time of spring,
Her figure such a sweet and lovely thing
As if one heard love's richest music flowing.