Classic Poem

Unto the central height of purple Rome, —
The crown of martyrdom,
Set as a heart within the passionate plain
Of triumph and of pain,
Where common roses in their blow and bud
Speak empire and show blood —
From colourless flowers and from breasts that burn,
Mother! to thee we turn.
The phantom light before thee flees and faints,
O City of the Saints!
In whom, with palms and wounds, there tarrieth
The unconquerable faith;
Where, as on Carmel, our Elijah stands
Above the faithless lands;
But conscious of earth's evening, not of them,
Lifts toward Jerusalem,
Where is the altar of High Sacrifice,
His full prophetic eyes. . .