That selfsame instant, underneath, The Duke rode past in his idle way, Empty and fine like a swordless sheath. Gay he rode, with a friend as gay. Till he threw his head back Who is she A bride the Riccardi brings home today. Hair in heaps lay heavily Over a pale brow spirit-pure Carved like the heart of a coal-black tree. Crisped like a war-steed sencolure And vainly sought to dissemble her eyes Of the blackest black our eyes endure. And lo, a blade for a knights emprise Filled the fine empty sheath of a man, The Duke grew straightway brave and wise. He looked at her, as a lover can; She looked at him, as one who awakes :T he past was a sleep, and her life began. Now, love so ordered for both their sakes, A feast was held that selfsame night In the pile which the mighty shadow makes. (F or Via Larga is three-parts light. But the palace overshadows one. Because of a crime which may God requite! To Florence and God the wrong was done. Through the first republics murder there By Cosimo an . CLICK HERE TO START DOWNLOAD