Rome Poem by Michael Walker

Over every bridge and every lane,
Your domes glow gold in sunset's sweetest kiss,
Your bosoms swelling for the last refrain
Of the hymn that fills the soul with bliss.

Your porous columns built from pagan runes
Shed shadows under the urban candles
That glint upon the marble walls' festoons,
Nude without the festivals' spangles.

O, city of the sacred and profane!
Heaven lurks around every corner.
Sin, for greater virtue, you ordain,
And laughter turns the tears of the mourner.

Your relics encompass all history,
The apocalypse's consistory.