THE ALTAR
UPON THE APENNINE HILL OF ROME
’Neath the gardens of the Emperors
Unnoticed you may pass
A little altar nestling
In the poppies and the grass.
No gorgeous columns flank it,
Where priest or Vestal trod—
Only the carven words that sing—
“To the Unknown God.”
The haughty praetor scanned it
With humble, thoughtful air—
The base-born slave espied it
With sullen, frightened stare:
The Roman matron touched it,
And went upon her way—
The gladiator saw it,
And paused awhile to pray.
Even the passing Cæsar
Bowed the imperial head,
With faltering eyes that swept the skies
In reverent fear and dread.
The arching heavens domed it
With royal lapis blue—
The soft Campania’s whisper
Brought the sunshine and the dew:
The candles of the firmament
Bent down their brightest rays,
Where, midst their Pagan Pantheon
A People paused to gaze.
THE SONG OF THE AEROPLANE
I scan your mighty fortresses—
I scorn your splendid fleets—
I chart your chosen cities—
Trenches and lanes and streets.
No secret ’neath the heavens,
No tale of land or sea,
But bares the breast at my behest
To stand revealed to me.
I pierce the rainbow’s bending,
Uncovering fold on fold,
Till I come to the arch’s ending
Where lies the pot of gold.
I romp in the crimson sunset—
I mount the wings o’ the dawn—
I glide o’er the brakes and marshes
To laugh at the startled fawn.