THE head and hands of murdered Cicero, Above his seat high in the Forum hung, Drew jeers and burning tears. When on the rung Of a swift-mounted ladder, all aglow, Fulvia, Mark Antony's shameless wife, with show Of foot firm-poised and gleaming arm upflung, Bade her sharp needle pierce that god-like tongue Whose speech fed Rome even as the Tiber's flow. And thou, Cleopartra's Needle, that hadst thrid Great skirts of Time ere she and Antony hid Dead hope!--hast thou too reached, surviving death, A city of sweet speech scorned,--on whose chill stone Keats withered, Coleridge pined, and Chatterton, Breadless, with poison froze the God-fired breath? |