 | Imaginary Sonnets |  |
I.
Once more, O Rome—once more, Eternal One,
I come to thee, from northmost woods of larch,
Across thy plain, whose grasses rot and parch,
And see thee standing in the setting sun;
I come to thee, from northmost woods of larch,
Across thy plain, whose grasses rot and parch,
And see thee standing in the setting sun;
And see, as once, although the ages run,
Thy aqueducts still stretching, arch on arch,
Like files of dusky giants on the march,
'Mid streams which I alone need never shun.
Thy aqueducts still stretching, arch on arch,
Like files of dusky giants on the march,
'Mid streams which I alone need never shun.
I knew thy face, long ere I might behold,
From this same spot, yon heaven-piercing dome,
Which stands out black against the sky of gold.
From this same spot, yon heaven-piercing dome,
Which stands out black against the sky of gold.
As deathless as myself, Eternal Rome,
I see thee changing as the world grows old,
While I, unchanged, still measure plain and foam.
I see thee changing as the world grows old,
While I, unchanged, still measure plain and foam.
| Imaginary Sonnets | |