When little Gian, my father’s latest born,
Was carried for chrism to the baptistery;
And standing, all unaware, beside the font,
I looked across the dim and crowded church
And saw a face—a dazzling, youthful face!
A face that smote my vision like a star;
With golden locks, and eyes divinely bright
Like San Michele in the picture there—
Fixed upon mine.
Had any whispered then