I stood amid the Pitti’s gilded halls,1
Where art with noble shapes had spread the walls,2
Where Raphael’s truthful grace, and Titian’s glow,3
Shone ’mid the austerest forms of Angelo.4
Among the bright unmoving visions there5
Were gazing groups alive, but not so fair ;6
Gay girls admired, and counts and lords went by,7
Wits, artists, soldiers, connoisseurs, and I :8
And there came in, like ghosts in dreamy scenes,9
Three mantled, cowled, and barefoot Capuchins.10
No stranger spectres e’er confused our life11
Since Luther broke his bonds and took a wife.12
The men look’d dull and harmless, cheerful too,13
And stared as sagely round as travellers do ;14
Yet sad the sight, and worst of all despairs15
To see contentment with a lot like theirs.16