The Cæsars triumphing came gayly home,
Red-robed, gold palm-embroiderèd—to Rome—
Gods like unto, with glory good to see,
On cars charioted of ivory,
Through gates triumphal, flower-up-built to dome,
While at their feet the masses moaning roam
And they, joy-drunk, cry:—“Io Triompe!”
Thus, Love, at life’s high noon enter my heart!
(Not like one monkish bred, cringing with fear,
Black clad, furtive of eye for dangers near,)