Classic and Contemporary Poetry
ROMA, by SILAS WEIR MITCHELL Poet's Biography First Line: Ripe hours there be that do anticipate Last Line: To see as man may see when time is not. Subject(s): Italy; Roman Empire; Italians | ||||||||
RIPE hours there be that do anticipate The heritage of death, and bid us see, As from the vantage of eternity, The shadow-symbols of historic fate. As o'er some Alpine summit's lonely steep, Blinding and terrible with spears of light, Hurling the snows from many a shaken height, The storm-clad spirits of the mountain sweep, Thus, in the solitude where broodeth thought, Torn from rent chasms of the soundless past, Go by me, as if borne upon the blast, The awful forms which time and man have wrought. Swift through the gloom each mournful chariot rolls, Dim shapes of empire urge the flying steeds, Featured with man's irrevocable deeds, Robed with the changeful passions of men's souls. Ethereal visions pass serene in prayer, Their eyes aglow with sacrificial light; Phantoms of creeds long dead, their garments bright, Drip red with blood of torture and despair. In such an hour my spirit did behold A woman wonderful. Unnumbered years Left in her eyes the beauty born of tears, And full they were of fatal stories old. The trophies of her immemorial reign The shadowy great of eld beside her bore; A broidery of ancient song she wore, And the glad muses held her regal train. Still hath she kingdom o'er the souls of men; Dear is she always in her less estate. The sad, the gay, the thoughtful, on her wait, Praising her evermore with tongue and pen. Stately her ways and sweet, and all her own; As one who has forgotten time, she lives, Loves, loses, lures anew, and ever gives, She who all misery and all joy hath known. If thou wouldst see her, as the twilight fails, Go forth along the ancient street of tombs, And when the purple shade divinely glooms High o'er the Alban hills, and night prevails, If then she is not with thee while the light Glows over roof and column, tower and dome, And the dead stir beneath thy feet, and Rome Lies in the solemn keeping of the night, If then she be not thine, not thine the lot Of those some angel rescues for an hour From earth's mean limitations, granting power To see as man may see when time is not. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...1851: A MESSAGE TO DENMARK HILL by RICHARD HOWARD TONIGHT THE HEART-SHAPED LEAVES by JAN HELLER LEVI JEWISH GRAVEYARDS, ITALY by PHILIP LEVINE SAILING HOME FROM RAPALLO by ROBERT LOWELL SUNLIGHT AND SHADOW by LISEL MUELLER HOW DUKE VALENTINE CONTRIVED by BASIL BUNTING FRAGMENTS FROM ITALY: 1 by JOHN CIARDI A DECANTER OF MADEIRA, AGED 86, TO GEORGE BANCROFT, AGED 86 by SILAS WEIR MITCHELL HOW THE CUMBERLAND WENT DOWN [MARCH 8, 1862] by SILAS WEIR MITCHELL |
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