The Decay Of Venice Poem by Silas Weir Mitchell

THE glowing pageant of my story lies,
A shaft of light, across the stormy years,
When, 'mid the agony of blood and tears,
Or pope or kaizer won the mournful prize,
Till I, the fearless child of ocean, heard
The step of doom, and trernbling to my fall,
Remorseful knew that I had seen unstirred
Proud Freedom's death, the tyrant's festival;
Whilst that Italia which was yet to be,
And is, and shall be, sat, a virgin pure,
High over Umbria on the mountain slopes,
And saw the failing fires of liberty
Fade on the chosen shrine she deemed secure,
When died for many a year man's noblest hopes.