XXXV.
San Miniato, Near Florence.
![Page image: blackwoods_48_298_285_sanminiatonearflorence.jpg](https://hcmc.uvic.ca/~vicpoems/page_images/blackwoods/048/blackwoods_48_298_285_sanminiatonearflorence.jpg)
While slow on Miniato’s height I roam,1
And backward look to Brunelleschi’s dome,2
’Tis strange to think that here on many a day3
Old Michael Angelo has paced his way ;4
And watching Florence, in his bosom found5
A nobler world than that which lies around.6
![Page image: blackwoods_48_298_286_sanminiatonearflorence.jpg](https://hcmc.uvic.ca/~vicpoems/page_images/blackwoods/048/blackwoods_48_298_286_sanminiatonearflorence.jpg)
To him, perhaps, the ghost of Dante came7
At sunset, with his pride of mournful fame.8
By me the twain, the bard and sculptor stand,9
With strong lip gazing and uplifted hand ;10
The great, the sad, fighters in ages past,11
With their full peace fill e’en the weak at last.12