334 MORE POT-POURRI 



J'ai perdu ma force et ina vie 



Et mes amis et ma gaiete ; 



J'ai perdu jusqu'a la fierte 

 Qui faisait croire a mon g6nie. 



Quand j'ai connu la verit6 



J'ai cru que c'etait une amie ; 



Quand je 1'ai comprise et sentie 

 J'en etais deja degoute. 



Et pourtant elle est eternelle, 

 Et ceux qui se sont passe d'elle 

 Ici has ont tout ignore. 



Dieu parle, il faut qu'on lui reponde, 

 Le seul bien qui me reste au monde 

 Est d'avoir quelquefois pleure. 



As I drove back into Florence the air was heavy with 

 the perfume of the Lime-trees such Lime-trees as I 

 have never seen before. The leaves are few and small, 

 and were absolutely hid by the size and number of the 

 yellow flowers with their big sheaths on each side like 

 wings. The evening sky was reflected in the Arno in the 

 old familiar way, and the air was warm and still. I called 

 for my friend, and once more shut up the memory of the 

 past in that far-away corner of the brain where such 

 things remain. We drove through the town, and I first 

 saw the Duomo with its facade completed. In my day, of 

 course, it was rough bricks, with the holes for the scaffold- 

 ing left in it. Beautifully as it is done, and I do think it 

 is a noble piece of restoration, the new f agade at first gave 

 me a shock. It seemed to cheapen Giotto's lovely tower, 

 and made one feel that what had seemed inimitable could 

 be copied. 



My first fortnight at Florence was spent in driving 

 about seeing old gardens, and dropping into dim churches 

 on summer evenings before returning home. My critical 

 feelings were all absolutely dead. I could do nothing but 



