V

 
He who would see the vast power of Nature,
Art, and Heaven: Rome, let him view you.
I long to know if he could now construe,
From what death reveals, your lost grandeur.

Rome is no more: if downed architecture
May still revive some shade of Rome anew,
It’s like a corpse, by some magic brew,
Drawn at deep midnight from a sepulchre.

The corpse of Rome lies here entombed in dust,
Her spirit gone to join, as all things must
The massy round’s great spirit onward whirled.

But her writings, that eternal praise
Drags from the tomb, despite the waste of days,
Ensures her image wanders through the world.