There's a palace in Florence, the world knows well,
And a statue watches it from the square,
And this story of both do our townsmen tell.
Ages ago, a lady there,
At the farthest window facing the East
Asked, Who rides by with the royal air?
* * * * *
That selfsame instant, underneath,
The Duke rode past in his idle way
Empty and fine like a swordless sheath.
* * * * *
He looked at her, as a lover can;
She looked at him as one who awakes:
The past was a sleep, and her life began.
--_The Statue and the Bust._ Browning