Florence from San Miniato.
Reading edition
Beneath my feet the smokeless city fair: Duomo and Giotto’s noble tower arise Like sentinels o’er Florence! In the air Something, not mist, but silvery vapour, lies. Up a steep hill climbs famous Fiésole From out the dark woods of Domenico, Close to Arno’s bank is Santa Crocé, Where lies at rest great Michael Angelo. And through the landscape, winding softly there, Arno betwixt his buttressed banks doth run Solemn and silent, steely bright and fair, Towards Carrara’s rocks, and setting sun.