Piazza di Spagna, Early Morning

Sparked forth by Richard Wilbur

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I can’t forget How she stood at the top of that long marble stair Amazed, and then with a sleepy pirouette Went dancing slowly down to the fountain-quieted square;

Nothing upon her face But some impersonal loneliness,- not then a girl But as it were a reverie of the place, A called-for falling glide and whirl;

As when a leaf, petal, or thin chip Is drawn to the falls of a pool and, circling a moment above it, Rides on over the lip- Perfectly beautiful, perfectly ignorant of it.