ITALIAN GARDENS OF THE RENAISSANCE 



evening, and looked down on the bare crags and huge 

 masses of debris that lay upheaved about us on every 

 side in wild confusion. For this was the one corner 

 of the desolate rock where the beech-trees spread their 

 leaves of tender green against the sky, and violets 

 and cyclamen peeped out among the moss-grown 

 trunks, paying silent tribute to the memory of him 

 who prayed best, because he loved best all things 

 both great and small, who thanked his Lord for the 

 bright blossoms, and the green grass, and called the 

 swallows his brothers and sisters. 



And so, with the sun touching the highest Apen- 

 nine tops with gold, and the sweet mountain air 

 blowing in our faces across the slopes of Michael 

 Angelo's native hills, we looked our last on La Vernia, 

 and turned our faces southwards, wondering once 

 more over the story of Francis, this great and tender 

 heart which overflowed with such untold love to God 

 and man. 



272 



