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...MUSIC AND MEMORY by JOHN ALBEE A GIRL OF POMPEII by EDWARD SANDFORD MARTIN IN AN ANCIENT LAND by HARRY RANDOLPH BLYTHE O, FOR ANE-AND-TWENTY by ROBERT BURNS THE SHOSHANAH by GEORGE E. CHODOWSKY THE MOTHER AT THE TELESCOPE by SARAH NORCLIFFE CLEGHORN |