EASTER DAY THE silver trumpets rang across the Dome: Like some great God, the Holy Lord of Rome. Three crowns of gold rose high upon his head: In splendour and in light the Pope passed home. My heart stole back across wide wastes of years To One who wandered by a lonely sea, And sought in vain for any place of rest: "Foxes have holes, and every bird its nest, I, only I, must wander wearily, And bruise my feet, and drink wine salt with OSCAR WILDE. tears." TWO GRAVES AT ROME SAINTS and Cæsars are here, Bishops of Rome and the world, Those who in sackcloth and shame Elected their limbs to enfold, Scornful of pleasure and fame: There is something else that I seek By the pile of Cestius here! Is it but two stones like the rest We laugh and forget like the rest. A transient name on the stone,. A transient love in the heart; But it is not so with these There is life and love in the stone; Names of beauty and light, Over all lands and seas They have gone forth in their might; Warmer and higher beats The general heart at the words Shelley and Keats: There is life and love in the stone! He with the gleaming eyes And glances gentle and wild, His heart could not throb like ours, He could not see with our eyes Hailed what was noble and sweet; The blood-tracked journey of life, The way-sore feet, None have watched with more human eyes. And he who went first to the tomb,- For none in that earlier Rome With such music and tears in the tomb. What seek ye, my comrades at Rome? Meet on the Appian Way, gay Or within the tall palace at eve In the Forum at twilight to grieve? The Englishman's heart at the words And here is the heart of our Rome. FRANCIS TURNER PALGRAVE. FROM "LOVE IN ITALY” UNDER the shadow of our pyramid, Rome's thought of Egypt,-dearest, there are hid That Italy gave birth to could outvie Through the poor form's decay. Not otherwise THE GRAVE OF KEATS RID OF the world's injustice, and his pain, No cypress shades his grave, no funeral yew, O sweetest lips since those of Mitylene! And tears like mine will keep thy memory green, OSCAR WILDE. |