So, Titus, you have made that stiff-necked race, The sons of Abraham, to bend the knee To you, no god; laid low their Holy Place, And left no stone to tell posterity Here was Jerusalem. The Roman sword Drank deep the blood of woman and of child; Men ate each other calling on the Lord, Who did not deign reply, though you defiled His Temple. You have dragged your captives home And had your triumph up the Sacred Way; The people thronged about you here in Rome, Where you spilled glory on their waning day. Yes, Titus, you have conquered, but the Jew Has triumphed over Time ... and over you. |