Sordello by Robert Browning — Read

Meantime Ferrara lay in rueful case; / The lady-city, for whose sole embrace / Her pair of suitors struggled, felt their arms / A brawny mischief to the fragile charms / They tugged for -- one discovering that to twist / Her tresses twice or thrice about his wrist / Secured a point of vantage -- one, how best / He 'd parry that by planting in her breast / His elbow spike -- each party too intent / For noticing, howe'er the battle went, / The conqueror would but have a corpse to kiss.

"May Boniface be duly damned for this! " / -- Howled some old Ghibellin, as up he turned, / From the wet heap of rubbish where they burned / His house, a little skull with dazzling teeth: / "A boon, sweet Christ -- let Salinguerra seethe / In hell forever, Christ, and let myself / Be there to laugh at him! " -- moaned some young Guelf / Stumbling upon a shrivelled hand nailed fast / To the charred lintel of the doorway, last / His father stood within to bid him speed. / The thoroughfares were overrun with weed / -- Docks, quitchgrass, loathy mallows no man plants. / The stranger, none of its inhabitants / Crept out of doors to taste fresh air again, / And ask the purpose of a splendid train / Admitted on a morning; every town / Of the East League was come by envoy down / To treat for Richard's ransom: here you saw / The Vicentine, here snowy oxen draw / The Paduan carroch, its vermilion cross / On its white field. A-tiptoe o'er the fosse / Looked Legate Montelungo wistfully / After the flock of steeples he might spy / In Este's time, gone (doubts he) long ago / To mend the ramparts: sure the laggards know / The Pope 's as good as here! They paced the streets / More soberly. At last, "Taurello greets / The League," announced a pursuivant, -- "will match / Its courtesy, and labors to dispatch / At earliest Tito, Friedrich's Pretor, sent / On pressing matters from his post at Trent, / With Mainard Count of Tyrol, -- simply waits / Their going to receive the delegates."