Sunset from the Pincian Hill
Day hastens whither Empire long has fled;
The Alban Hills with fleeting splendor glow;
While purple pageantry of clouds o'erhead
Mocks the grey wreck below.
Palace and temple, wall and gate and tower,
The victor's arch, the victim's gilded dome,
Flaunt their old glories; for a sunset hour
Stands the frail vision, — Rome.
The Alban Hills with fleeting splendor glow;
While purple pageantry of clouds o'erhead
Mocks the grey wreck below.
Palace and temple, wall and gate and tower,
The victor's arch, the victim's gilded dome,
Flaunt their old glories; for a sunset hour
Stands the frail vision, — Rome.
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