Henry Wadsworth Longfellow — Giottos Tower

How many lives, made beautiful and sweet        &nbsp By self-devotion and by self-restraint,        &nbsp Whose pleasure is to run without complaint        &nbsp On unknown errands of the Paraclete, Wanting the reverence of unshodden feet,        &nbsp Fail of the nimbus which the artists paint        &nbsp Around the shining forehead of the saint,        &nbsp And are in their completeness incomplete! In the old Tuscan town stands Giotto's tower,        &nbsp The lily of Florence blossoming in stone,—        &nbsp A vision, a delight, and a desire,— The builder's perfect and centennial flower,        &nbsp That in the night of ages bloomed alone,        &nbsp But wanting still the glory of the spire.