I was returning from my work, and paused
Upon the bridge of Santa Trinita
To rest, and think how fair our Florence is.
And I remember, o'er the hazy hills,
Far, far away, how exquisitely fair
The twilight seemed that night. My heart was soft
With tender longings, misted with a dim,
Sad pleasure as a mirror with the breath.
Ah, never will those feelings come again!
I was in a mood to take a stamp