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Wilfrid Scawen Blunt - A New Pilgrimage: Sonnet XXXVI
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The majesty of Rome to me is nought;
 The imperial story of her conquering car
 Touches me only with compassionate thought
 For the doomed nations faded by her star.
 Her palaces of Caesars tombstones are
 For a whole world of freedoms vainly caught
 In her high fortune. Throned was she in war;
 By war she perished. So is justice wrought.
 A nobler Rome is here, which shall not die.
 She rose from the dead ashes of men`s lust,
 And robed herself anew in chastity,
 And half redeemed man`s heritage of dust.
 This Rome I fain would love, though darkly hid
 In mists of passion and desires scarce dead.
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