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She stood, a figure for Bournemouth pier, in her grotesque bonnet, and watched the son of the Umbrian saint the friar who walks among the Giotto frescoes at Assisi and between the cypresses of Bello Sguardo, and has paced the centuries continually since the coming of the friars. One might have asked of her the kindness of a fellow-feeling.
Cowley sang: M'appari tutt'amor: Il mio sguardo l'incontr... She waved, unhearing Cowley, her veil, to one departing, dear one, to wind, love, speeding sail, return. Go on, Simon. Ah, sure, my dancing days are done, Ben... Well... Mr Dedalus laid his pipe to rest beside the tuningfork and, sitting, touched the obedient keys. No, Simon, Father Cowley turned. Play it in the original. One flat.
Their massive, clean, and brightly-polished carriages also begin to rattle through the streets, setting out on excursions to some part of the environs of Florence to Fiesole, to the Pratolino, to the Bello Sguardo, to the Poggio Imperiale. Sights of a different kind now present themselves.
She stood, a figure for Bournemouth pier, in her grotesque bonnet, and watched the son of the Umbrian saint the friar who walks among the Giotto frescoes at Assisi and between the cypresses of Bello Sguardo, and has paced the centuries continually since the coming of the friars. One might have asked of her the kindness of a fellow-feeling.
Surely on the southern side of the river, about the Viale dei Colli, the hills approach much nearer to the plain. From San Miniato and the Bello Sguardo one looks down far more directly upon the domes and palaces and campaniles of Florence spread right at one's feet.
To produce such a revolution, divine how I must have been fascinated! and be not surprised at my repeating all the way that pathetic sonnet of Petrarch: "O giorno, o ora, o ultimo momento, O stelle congiurate a 'mpoverirme! O fido sguardo, or che volei tu dirme, Partend' io, per non esser mai contento?" September 9th. You may imagine how I felt when the hour of leaving Padua drew near.
Their massive, clean, and brightly polished carriages also begin to rattle through the streets, setting out on excursions to some part of the environs of Florence to Fiesole, to the Pratolino, to the Bello Sguardo, to the Poggio Imperiale. Sights of a different kind now present themselves.
The walk to the church of San Miniato is a paved, steep path, through olive orchards fringed by a row of cypresses, to the little church of San Salvadore; thence, through a garden of roses and cabbages, fresh and fragrant in the December sun, to the convent of Miniato. From the terrace is one of the best views of the city; not so fine, however, as that from Bello Sguardo.
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