THE silver trumpets rang across the Dome: The people knelt upon the ground with awe: And borne upon the necks of men I saw, Like some great God, the Holy Lord of Rome. Priest-like, he wore a robe more white than foam, And, king-like, swathed himself in royal red, Three crowns of gold rose high upon his head: In splendour and in light the Pope passed home. My heart stole back across wide wastes of years To One who wandered by a lonely sea, And sought in vain for any place of rest: "Foxes have holes, and every bird its nest, I, only I, must wander wearily, And bruise my feet, and drink wine salt with tears." | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...GUILIELMUS REX by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH THE FORSAKEN MERMAN by MATTHEW ARNOLD MAGDALEN by GEORGE KENYON ASHENDON FRAGMENTS INTENDED FOR DEATH'S JEST-BOOK: COUNTENANCE FOREBODING EVIL by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES ENOUGH by OTTO JULIUS BIERBAUM THE PASTURE POND by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN THE WANDERER: 5. IN HOLLAND: MYSTERY by EDWARD ROBERT BULWER-LYTTON |