A View in the Val d’Arno. A plain all bathed in golden mist, with soft Blue shadows floating in the opal light ; The olives, laden with round purple fruit, Bend to the breeze their leaves so silver-white. A rustling line of poplars marks the course The winding Arno follows in the vale, And all the lilac hills are dashed with gold, And brown, and green, and rose so faint and pale. The belfries grey rise solemn in the midst Of the white hamlets smiling in the sun, And many a villa—could the stones but speak— Would tell sad tales of love, and murders done. While distant Florence sleeps beneath the guard Of Giotto’s tower, whose bells in days of old Called sober citizens to don their arms And thus their ancient liberties uphold. Janet Ross .