Joaquin Miller's Poems [in six volumes] |
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ROME |
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Joaquin Miller's Poems | ||
43
ROME
I
Some leveled hills, a wall, a domeThat lords its gold cross to the skies,
While at its base a beggar cries
For bread, and dies, and—this is Rome.
II
Yet Rome is Rome, and Rome she mustAnd shall remain beside her gates,
And tribute take of Kings and States,
Until the stars have fallen to dust.
III
Yea, Time on yon Campagnan plainHas pitched in siege his battle-tents;
And round about her battlements
Has marched and trumpeted in vain.
IV
These skies are Rome! The very loamLifts up and speaks in Roman pride;
And Time, outfaced and still defied,
Sits by and wags his beard at Rome.
Joaquin Miller's Poems | ||