Life, 1915-07-29 · page 23 of 40
Life — July 29, 1915 — page 23: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This is not a political cartoon but a sentimental poem by Leolyn Louise Everett, accompanied by illustrations of Italian scenes. The page reflects early 20th-century American nostalgia. The poem describes an expatriate—likely an American—in Florence, Italy, who becomes homesick while admiring the Old World's beauty. The speaker contrasts Europe's historical grandeur with passionate patriotism for America, which is praised as "the youngest, proudest, freest thing / God ever gave a weary world." The illustrations show Florentine landmarks (the cathedral, cypress trees, riverside views) framing the text. The satire, if present, is gentle: the poem mocks the romantic tendency to idealize foreign travel while ultimately affirming American superiority and values—a common theme reflecting early 1900s American exceptionalism and the tension between cosmopolitan European appreciation and patriotic nationalism.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
Evening in Florence BOVE the purple line of hills, So flat against the sunset sky They seem like paper silhouettes, The ev’ning star shines clear and high. The mellow vesper bells make sweet The hush of the descending night, And the pale West still softly holds Reflection of its rosy light. The rush of waters and the sound Of women’s voices as they pass Both mingle with the quietude In which day fades, as in a glass, And Memory with ghostly hand Plucks at the skirt of dreaming Thought To lift a sudden vision up, Tear-sparkled, fantasy-enwrought. Oh, wonderful Old World, so rich, So mellow, tender and so wise! Let—for a while—your magic lift Your witchcraft dim—I close my eyes. Oh, the wide meadows, with the moon A-shimmer on their worlds of wheat! Oh, the fresh, fragrant breath of June, The breeze that sweeps so wild and sweet From virgin forests, solitudes The farthest rover scarce may roam, Green valleys with slow, winding streams, The sanctity and warmth of home! Oh, my America, my own, The youngest, proudest, freest thing God ever gave a weary world To make its aching heart take wing! Oh, my America, my love, The strength and purity of day, I never was more wholly yours Than now I am so far away! Leolyn Louise Everett. comicbooks.com