Rome

A high and naked square, a lonely palm;
Columns thrown down, a high and lonely tower;
The tawny river, ominously fouled;
Cypresses in a garden, old with calm;
Two monks who pass in white, sandalled and cowled
Empires of glory in a narrow hour
From sunset into starlight when the sky
Wakened to death behind St. Peter's dome:
That, in an eyelid's lifting, you and I
Will see whenever any man says "Rome."