I.
My little son, my Florentine,
       &nbspSit down beside my knee,
And I will tell you why the sign
       &nbspOf joy which flushed our Italy
Has faded since but yesternight;
And why your Florence of delight
       &nbspIs mourning as you see.

II.
A great man (who was crowned one day)
       &nbspImagined a great Deed:
He shaped it out of cloud and clay,
       &nbspHe touched it finely till the seed
Possessed the flower: from heart and brain
He fed it with large thoughts humane,
       &nbspTo help a people’s need.

III.
He brought it out into the sun—
       &nbspThey blessed it to his face:
“O great pure Deed, that hast undone
       &nbspSo many bad and base!
O generous Deed, heroic Deed,
Come forth, be perfected, succeed,
       &nbspDeliver by God’s grace.”
IV.
Then sovereigns, statesmen, north and south,
       &nbspRose up in wrath and fear,
And cried, protesting by one mouth,
       &nbsp“What monster have we here?
A great Deed at this hour of day?
A great just Deed—and not for pay?
       &nbspAbsurd,—or insincere.”

V.
“And if sincere, the heavier blow
       &nbspIn that case we shall bear,
For where’s our blessed ‘status quo,’
       &nbspOur holy treaties, where,—
Our rights to sell a race, or buy,
Protect and pillage, occupy,
       &nbspAnd civilize despair?”

VI.
Some muttered that the great Deed meant
       &nbspA great pretext to sin;
And others, the pretext, so lent,
       &nbspWas heinous (to begin).
Volcanic terms of “great” and “just”?
Admit such tongues of flame, the crust
       &nbspOf time and law falls in.
VII.
A great Deed in this world of ours?
       &nbspUnheard of the pretence is:
It threatens plainly the great Powers;
       &nbspIs fatal in all senses.
A just Deed in the world?—call out
The rifles! be not slack about
       &nbspThe national defences.

VIII.
And many murmured, “From this source
       &nbspWhat red blood must be poured!”
And some rejoined, “’T is even worse;
       &nbspWhat red tape is ignored!”
All cursed the Doer for an evil
Called here, enlarging on the Devil,—
       &nbspThere, monkeying the Lord!

IX.
Some said it could not be explained,
       &nbspSome, could not be excused;
And others, “Leave it unrestrained,
       &nbspGehenna’s self is loosed.”
And all cried “Crush it, maim it, gag it!
Set dog-toothed lies to tear it ragged,
       &nbspTruncated and traduced!”
X.
But He stood sad before the sun
       &nbsp(The peoples felt their fate).
“The world is many,—I am one;
       &nbspMy great Deed was too great.
God’s fruit of justice ripens slow:
Men’s souls are narrow; let them grow.
       &nbspMy brothers, we must wait.”

XI.
The tale is ended, child of mine,
       &nbspTurned graver at my knee.
They say your eyes, my Florentine,
       &nbspAre English: it may be.
And yet I’ve marked as blue a pair
Following the doves across the square
       &nbspAt Venice by the sea.

XII.
Ah child! ah child! I cannot say
       &nbspA word more. You conceive
The reason now, why just to-day
       &nbspWe see our Florence grieve.
Ah child, look up into the sky!
In this low world, where great Deeds die,
       &nbspWhat matter if we live?