A MESSAGE FROM ITALYBY MARGARET WIDDEMERTHERE was a white bird lighted on the sillThat sang of Italy.All day the great bands whirled along the millAnd pale girls languidlyWound the long skeins that do not ever end,And nothing saw or heard,Only one heart flew back to sun and friendAnd freedom with the bird.Doves by the broken fountain in the squareCooed at her small brown feet.There was wide sky and love and laughter there,And the soft wind was sweet;The long days ran, like little children, freeIn that blue, sunny air,Life did not labor hushed and measuredly,There was not gold or care.The close heat pulsed, unsweetened by the sun,And the blind walls againPenned her to tasks unending, unbegun,Monotony and pain;But all that day her feet paced with gay will,Her child-heart circled free.There was a white dove lighted on the sillThat cooed of Italy.Plates in tint, engraved for THECENTURYby C. W. Chadwick and H. DavidsonDRAWN BY W. T. BENDA❏LARGER IMAGE
A MESSAGE FROM ITALYBY MARGARET WIDDEMER
BY MARGARET WIDDEMER
THERE was a white bird lighted on the sillThat sang of Italy.All day the great bands whirled along the millAnd pale girls languidlyWound the long skeins that do not ever end,And nothing saw or heard,Only one heart flew back to sun and friendAnd freedom with the bird.Doves by the broken fountain in the squareCooed at her small brown feet.There was wide sky and love and laughter there,And the soft wind was sweet;The long days ran, like little children, freeIn that blue, sunny air,Life did not labor hushed and measuredly,There was not gold or care.The close heat pulsed, unsweetened by the sun,And the blind walls againPenned her to tasks unending, unbegun,Monotony and pain;But all that day her feet paced with gay will,Her child-heart circled free.There was a white dove lighted on the sillThat cooed of Italy.
THERE was a white bird lighted on the sillThat sang of Italy.All day the great bands whirled along the millAnd pale girls languidlyWound the long skeins that do not ever end,And nothing saw or heard,Only one heart flew back to sun and friendAnd freedom with the bird.Doves by the broken fountain in the squareCooed at her small brown feet.There was wide sky and love and laughter there,And the soft wind was sweet;The long days ran, like little children, freeIn that blue, sunny air,Life did not labor hushed and measuredly,There was not gold or care.The close heat pulsed, unsweetened by the sun,And the blind walls againPenned her to tasks unending, unbegun,Monotony and pain;But all that day her feet paced with gay will,Her child-heart circled free.There was a white dove lighted on the sillThat cooed of Italy.
THERE was a white bird lighted on the sillThat sang of Italy.All day the great bands whirled along the millAnd pale girls languidlyWound the long skeins that do not ever end,And nothing saw or heard,Only one heart flew back to sun and friendAnd freedom with the bird.
THERE was a white bird lighted on the sill
That sang of Italy.
All day the great bands whirled along the mill
And pale girls languidly
Wound the long skeins that do not ever end,
And nothing saw or heard,
Only one heart flew back to sun and friend
And freedom with the bird.
Doves by the broken fountain in the squareCooed at her small brown feet.There was wide sky and love and laughter there,And the soft wind was sweet;The long days ran, like little children, freeIn that blue, sunny air,Life did not labor hushed and measuredly,There was not gold or care.
Doves by the broken fountain in the square
Cooed at her small brown feet.
There was wide sky and love and laughter there,
And the soft wind was sweet;
The long days ran, like little children, free
In that blue, sunny air,
Life did not labor hushed and measuredly,
There was not gold or care.
The close heat pulsed, unsweetened by the sun,And the blind walls againPenned her to tasks unending, unbegun,Monotony and pain;But all that day her feet paced with gay will,Her child-heart circled free.There was a white dove lighted on the sillThat cooed of Italy.
The close heat pulsed, unsweetened by the sun,
And the blind walls again
Penned her to tasks unending, unbegun,
Monotony and pain;
But all that day her feet paced with gay will,
Her child-heart circled free.
There was a white dove lighted on the sill
That cooed of Italy.
Plates in tint, engraved for THECENTURYby C. W. Chadwick and H. DavidsonDRAWN BY W. T. BENDA❏LARGER IMAGE
Plates in tint, engraved for THECENTURYby C. W. Chadwick and H. Davidson
DRAWN BY W. T. BENDA
❏LARGER IMAGE