On the Old Bridge

The Master Goldsmith has, since matins, where
Beneath his pencils the enamel flowed,
On clasp or on nielloed pax bestowed
Latin devices in resplendence rare.

Upon the Bridge, where bells made glad the air,
Camail and frock were by the cape elbowed;
And when the heaven like some church window glowed,
The lovely Florentines were haloed there.

And quick beguiled by dream that passion knows,
The pensive prentices forgot to close
On ring's chaton the lovers' hands in plight;

While with hard point as any stylet keen,
The young Cellini chased, all else unseen,
On pommel of a dirk the Titans' fight.