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Oscar Wilde - Easter Day
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The silver trumpets rang across the Dome: 
     The people knelt upon the ground with awe: 
     And borne upon the necks of men I saw, 
Like some great God, the Holy Lord of Rome. 
Priest-like, he wore a robe more white than foam, 
     And, king-like, swathed himself in royal red, 
     Three crowns of gold rose high upon his head: 
In splendor and in light the Pope passed home. 
My heart stole back across wide wastes of years 
     To One who wandered by a lonely sea, 
     And sought in vain for any place of rest: 
"Foxes have holes, and every bird its nest, 
     I, only I, must wander wearily, 
     And bruise My feet, and drink wine salt with tears."
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