| Intra Tupino and the water that descends
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| Of the chosen hill of Blessed Ubaldo
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| Fertile coast on the high mountain slopes
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| Onde Perugia feels cold and hot
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| From Porta Sole and from the back he cries for them
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| For serious yoke Nocera with Gualdo
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| Of this coast, where it fringes
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| More rectitude than she, a Sun was born into the world
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| How does this sometimes of Ganges
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| But lest I proceed too closed
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| Francis and Poverty for these lovers
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| Take by now in my widespread talk
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| Their harmony and their happy semblants
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| Love and wonder and sweet gaze
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| Let them be the cause of holy thoughts:
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| So much so that the venerable Bernard
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| He got undressed first, and behind so much peace
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| He ran and, as he ran, it seemed to him that he was late
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| Nor did cowardice burden them with their lashes
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| To be the son of Pietro Bernardone
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| Neither out of spite to surprise;
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| But royally his hard intention
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| To Innocentius he opened, and from him he received
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| First seal to his religion
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| Then the poor people grew up
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| Behind him, whose wonderful life
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| Better to sing in glory of heaven
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| And then that, for the thirst of the martyr
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| Neither the presence of the Soldan is superb
|
| He preached Christ and others that I will follow him
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| In the raw stone between the Tiber and Arno rivers
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| From Christ he took the last seal
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| When to Him who has so well done it
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| He liked to bring him to the mercy
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| Ch'el deserved in his becoming pusillo
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| To his friars, as well as to just rede
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| He recommended his dearest woman
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| And he commanded that they love him in faith;
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| And the soul precluded from his womb
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| Mover wanted, returning to his kingdom
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| And to his body he didn't want another coffin |