I. SOME levelled hills, a wall, a dome That lords its gilded arch and lies, While at its base a beggar cries For bread, and dies, — and that is Rome. II. Yet Rome is Rome; and Rome she must And shall remain beside her gates, And tribute take of kings and States, Until the stars have fallen to dust. III. Yea, Time on yon campagnian plain Has pitched in siege his battle tents; And round about her battlements Has marched and trumpeted in vain. IV. These skies are Rome! The very loam Lifts up and speaks in Roman pride; And Time, outfaced and still defied, Sits by and wags his beard at Rome, Rome, 1873.

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Miller, Joaquin. Songs of Italy. Boston: Roberts Brothers, 1878. 11-12

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