CHAPTER IV
How, gazing on these creatures of his brush, he forgot to repeat the ‘angelus’ and fell into temptation.
WHEN in his room the little finch beside
Was captive, without use of net or lime,
Paulo gazed upon his wall with pride.
So rapt he was, he heeded neither time
Nor his wife’s call, nor did he hear at all
From Giotto’s tower the Ave Mary chime.
On these his tender creatures, loved so well,
The old lay-brother gazed with thoughtful care,
While round him, soft and still the twilight fell.
And he forgot his wonted evening prayer,
The angel’s greeting. From the street in cadence
Soft strains of viol and lute rose through the air:
From balconies was born the lingering fragrance
Of marjoram and thyme, while all along
The golden broom lined the street with radiance.
Round Brunelleschi’s spire a chattering throng
Of sparrows through each buttressed archway whirred;
Below young lads and maidens raised a song.
Around thee, Santa Maria del Fiore, stirr’d
Such living freshness, such a fragrant spell,
Paulo forgot St. Francis and his word,
And, tempted, in his heart to murmuring fell.
