The Bells on Monte Sacro
During his sidesteps through Italy's boot,
Hunting the only plums which satisfied
His garden tongue, he climbed a high steeple
On Monte Sacro to watch for the hour
That brings as many early as late particles.
When grainy night opened its last flower,
The cool, living air breathed back into him.
But then the bells began their rough clangor.
They caught him ringing in the tower,
And followed him forever after that.