In the garden of the Virgins, that is, The garden of the House of the Vestals
(Your sweater draped across your shoulders As the narrow chill of the evening
Began to ribbon the Forum) , you walked With your head down, silent, a little amused,
But silent. Whatever else exists In the daily mystery of service & denial
I doubt celibacy plays much of a part for you; Yet there you were, at the ancient threshold.
The very threshold of life
The threshold of the divine flame.
Bye the ruins of the sacred House – thinking- - Whatever it was that you were thinking - the lush- - - complicated vines which even in winter bring life to the bare stones of the walls around us.
Yet for you, I know, a... time when once home had a fire, a hearth
A place where the flame of love struggled burst into vibrant life and dimmed
But like the memory of Vesta, to those who know, never quite died out.
Jim this is good. A tender and understanding personal tribute, yet given the time and place wherein it was inspired, it is even more potent. The lines simply flow along and read aloud very well..... Rome did you more favours than we imagined if this is proof..... best wishes from Fay.
Thanks James, I enjoyed reading this, is this where the vestel virgins came from in the song A Whiter Shade Of Pale? , 10 Lynda xx
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Good narration there i fount the contemporary touch of human agony and coolness Best Regards, Merry `X`mas, and new year wishes for you and your good family (Vinod)