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Robert Laurence Binyon - Ricordi
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Of a tower, of a tower, white
 In the warm Italian night,
 Of a tower that shines and springs
 I dream, and of our delight.

 Of doves, of a hundred wings
 Sweeping in sound that sings
 Past our faces, and wide
 Returning in tremulous rings:

 Of a window on Arno side,
 Sun--warm when the rain has dried
 On the roofs, and from far below
 The clear street--cries are cried:

 Of a certain court we know,
 And love`s and sorrow`s throe
 In marbles of mighty limb,
 And the beat of our hearts aglow:

 Of water whispering dim
 To a porphyry basin`s rim;
 Of flowers on a windy wall
 Richly tossing, I dream.

 And of white towns nestling small
 Upon Apennine, with a tall
 Tower in the sunset air
 Sounding soft vesper--call:

 And of golden morning bare
 On Lucca roofs, and fair
 Blue hills, and scent that shook
 From blossoming chestnuts, where

 Red ramparts overlook
 Hot meadow and leafy nook,
 And girls with laughing cries
 Beat clothes in a glittering brook:

 And of magic--builded skies
 Upon still lagoons; and wise
 Padua`s pillared street
 In the charm of a day that dies:

 Of olive--shade in the heat
 And a lone, cool, rocky seat
 On an island beach, and bright
 Fresh ripples about our feet;

 Of mountains in vast moon--light,
 Of rivers` rushing flight,
 Of gardens of green retreat
 I dream, and of our delight.
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