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Florentine Pilgrim
"I'll do the old dump in a day,"
He told me in his brittle way.

"Two more, I guess, I'll give to Rome
Before I hit the trail for home;
But while I'm there I kindo' hope
To have an audience with the Pope.
"

We stood upon the terraced height
With sunny Florence in our sight.

I gazed and gazed, too moved to speak
Until he queried: "What's that creek?"
"The Arno, sir," I said surprised;
He stared at it with empty eyes.


"It is," said I, "the storied stream
Where Dante used to pace and dream,
And wait for Beatrice to pass.
"
(Oh how I felt a silly ass
Explaining this.
) With eyes remote
He asked: "Was Beatrice a boat?"

Then tranced by far Fiesole
Softly I sought to steal away;
But his adhesiveness was grim,
I could not pry apart from him:
And so in our hotel-ward walk
Meekly I listened to his talk.


"Bologna! Say, the lunch was swell;
Them wops know how to feed you well.

Verona! There I met a blonde"
Oh how that baby could respond!
Siena! That's the old burg where
We soused on Asti in the square.


"Antiquity! Why, that's the bunk -
Statues and all that mouldy junk
Will never get you anywhere .
.
.

My line is ladies' underware,
And better than a dozen Dantes
Is something cute in female scanties.
.
.
.


"One day in Florence is too small
You think, maybe, to see it all.

Well, it don't matter what you've seen -
The thing is: you can say you've been.
"
Written by: Robert William Service

Book: Shattered Sighs