After Reading His Italian Sonnet to the Old Bridge at Florence

Thou sing'st of lands dear to the Tuscan heart;
Of peerless Arno glittering in dull gold;
Of rosy Amalfi, where thy feet have strolled;
Of Rome's great gloom, or of the Pisan mart;

In thy rare poesy, as perfect as thine art,
Italy revels in a flawless mold,
And all her prayers and sufferings manifold
Form of thy theme the supreme nobler part.

For Petrarch's spirit from the dimly grand
Vague lapse of centuries has thy fancy moved,
And languid suns Venetian o'er thee steal,
Italia's glory smiles at thy command,
While through thy song, which Dante would have loved,
I hear Boccaccio's silvery laughter peal.