I heard last night a little child go singing
'Neath Casa Guidi windows, by the church,
O bella libertÓ, O bella!—stringing
The same words still on notes he went in search
So high for, you concluded the upspringing
Of such a nimble bird to sky from perch
Must leave the whole bush in a tremble green,
And that the heart of Italy must beat,
While such a voice had leave to rise serene
'Twixt church and palace of a Florence street;
A little child, too, who not long had been
By mother's finger steadied on his feet,
And still O bella libertÓ he sang.
ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING.