XVI

And more remains for doing, all must feel,

Than trysting on his stone from year to year

      To shift processions, civic heel to heel,

The town's thanks to the Pitti. Are ye freer

      For what was felt that day? A chariot wheel

May spin fast, yet the chariot never roll.

      But if that day suggested something good,

And bettered, with one purpose, soul by soul,—

      Better means freer. A land's brotherhood

Is most puissant! Men, upon the whole,

      Are what they can be,—nations, what they would.