Here burned the Vestal Fire
The endless seasons through:
Here reared the haughty Arches
The far-flung Nations knew.
Lord of the last least horizon—
King of the Outer Seas—
Where beat a heart, where stood a mart,
There bended suppliant knees—
To Thee—Resplendent Sovereign—
Cradled among the hills,
Who still through the countless centuries
The wondering watcher thrills.
Only a Tale of the Ages—
Power and Pride and Death—
And the afterlight of an Empire’s might—
And the soft Campania’s breath.
Only the crumbled marble,
And Memory’s lingering wine,
And the grass and the scarlet poppies
And clover and dandelion.
THE MASTERPIECE
“Des Sohnes letzter Gruss” (“The Son’s last Salutation”). A modern painting by Karl Hoff in the Royal Picture Gallery, Dresden.
We tramped the stretching galleries—
We gazed each priceless gem—
Jordäens—Rubens—Raphael—
We paused and pondered them.
The famous, same Madonnas—
The fatuous forms at ease—
And the Wedding Feast with Cavaliers—
And a drunken Hercules.