February in Rome

Edmund Gosse (1849–1928)

WHEN Roman fields are red with cyclamen,

And in the palace gardens you may find,

Under great leaves and sheltering briony-bind,

Clusters of cream-white violets, oh then

The ruined city of immortal men

Must smile, a little to her fate resigned,

And through her corridors the slow warm wind

Gush harmonies beyond a mortal ken.

Such soft favonian airs upon a flute,

Such shadowy censers burning live perfume,

Shall lead the mystic city to her tomb;

Nor flowerless springs, nor autumns without fruit,

Nor summer mornings when the winds are mute,

Trouble her soul till Rome be no more Rome.