(Apropos of a remark, attributed to an Italian girl of the Garment Workers’ Union, “It wouldn’t be so bad if they would only let us sing at our work”)
Child of the Renaissance, and little sister
Of Ariosto and of Raphael,
If any hush the song within your bosom,
By all your lyric land, he does not well!
One day a traveller from our songless country,
Passing at morning through Saint Mark’s great Square,
Marvelled, from workmen on the campanile,
To hear a song arising on the air.
Marvelled to see those stones of Venice rising