ROME.
Joaquin Miller
- I.
ome leveled hills, a wall, a dome - That lords its gilded arch and lies,
- While at its base a beggar cries
- For bread, and this and that is Rome.
- II.
- Yet Rome is Rome, and Rome she must
- And 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 plain
- Has pitched in siege his battle-tents;
- And round about her battlements
- Has marched and trumpeted in vain,
- IV.
- These skies are Rome! The very loam
- Lifts up and speaks in Roman pride;
- And Time, outfaced and still defied,
- Sits by and wags his beard at Rome.