There blossoms a City of domes and towers.
II
Teuton, Lombard, and grasping Gaul,
Prince and Pontiff, have forced their way,
Have forded the river, and scaled the wall,
And made in its palaces stye and stall,
Where spears might glisten and war-steeds neigh.
III
But ever since Florence was fair and young,
And the sun upon turret and belfry shone,