The Old Bridge At Florence


    Taddeo Gaddi built me.    I am old,
        Five centuries old.    I plant my foot of stone
        Upon the Arno, as St. Michael's own
        Was planted on the dragon.    Fold by fold
    Beneath me as it struggles.    I behold
        Its glistening scales.    Twice hath it overthrown
        My kindred and companions.    Me alone
        It moveth not, but is by me controlled,
    I can remember when the Medici
        Were driven from Florence; longer still ago
        The final wars of Ghibelline and Guelf.
    Florence adorns me with her jewelry;
        And when I think that Michael Angelo
        Hath leaned on me, I glory in myself.


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Return to the Henry Wadsworth Longfellow library , or . . . Read the next poem; The Old Clock On The Stairs

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