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I heard last night a little child go singing 'Neath Casa Guidi windows, by the church, O bella libertá, O bella! —stringing The same words still on notes he went in search So high for, you concluded the upspringing Of such a nimble bird to sky from perch Must leave the whole bush in a tremble green, And that the heart of Italy must beat, While such a voice had leave to rise serene 'Twixt church and palace of a Florence street; A little child, too, who not long had been By mother's finger steadied on his feet, And still O bella libertá he sang. |