You lay in all your splendor,
Haughty in your grace
As if saying to Rome:
“You are nothing next to me!
My buildings gleaming in white,
Blind the eyes,
And are soothed by my cool blue bay.
You trudge on your seven hills,
Panting like the she-wolf
That whelped you.”
In the distance,
A sullen mount,
Awaken by the proud bruiting,
Smolders with longing.
His blood bubbles from deep beneath,
Rising at the sight of alabaster beauty.
There is no romance,
Flooding her with his molten love,
Taking her, in smothering embrace.
And Rome, her callused feet
Slapping the hard stone,
Wipes the sweat from a tanned brow,
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Comments about this poem (Pompeii’s Lover by Charles Darnell )
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