Classic Poem

Where martyrs bled and purple Caesars reigned,
Where every idle gust of winter flings
In empty air dust of forgotten kings, —
Rome! where world-empire oft was lost and gained,
While palace, tomb, and temple, wrecked and stained,
Tell of dead glories. — what the lure that brings
Our fancy from those wide imaginings
In one dim upper room to brood enchained?

It is the tale oft told but ever new,
Of life that fades and will not stay its prime,
Of passion withering by its altar-flame.
Yet death's rich gifts, John Keats, abide with you,
Desired of men since first recorded time:
Unfaded Youth, unchanging Love, and Fame.