Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, ed. Poems of Places: An Anthology in 31 Volumes.
Italy: Vols. XI–XIII. 1876–79.
Ucello
By Sarah B. Clarke
T
Through this same doorway passed his trembling feet,
Beyond the gates of Florence took their way,—
A quaint, sad figure in the busy street.
(Yet to all time some touches may endure),
Live the dumb creatures that he loved so well,
Each with its own poetic portraiture.
Daily to loving birds he talked and read,
While they, with tender warblings soft and low,
Fluttered forever round his patient head.
(As to St. Francis in the days of yore),
When all the world looked dark and drear to him,
Most heavenly solace from their bounteous store.
Strange computations working in his brain;
Dimensions visible of airy lines,
Dreamed of, and thought, and dreamed of o’er again.
And gave them to the world, before untaught;
He held his soul harmonious with the spheres,
And problems solved, unknown to mortal thought.
Victorious, bright with laughter and with song;
In him she only saw a meek, sad soul,
Of little worth amid her brilliant throng.
And gives to him at last immortal fame,
And all can read who pass the crowded way
Engraved upon this door Ucello’s name.