So many labours and pangs,
And raptures, and every right won
And every secret laid bare,
And every book set open
In the boundless circuit of Earth....
Shall become the vesture of thee,
Thee only, O Rome, O Rome!
Thou, goddess, Thou only shalt break
The new Bread, and speak the new Word!
On this note, the climax of his boundless national faith, we will leave d’Annunzio. We are apt to think that the tide of humanity has ebbed decisively away from the city of the seven hills, and that wherever its sundered streams may be destined finally to flow together in unison, the Roman Forum, where the roads of all the world once met, will not be that spot. Yet a city which can generate magnificent, even if illusory, dreams is assured of a real potency in human affairs not to be challenged in its kind by far greater and wealthier cities which the Londoner, or the New Yorker, or even the Parisian, would never think of addressing in these lyrical terms.