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.