ROME UNVISITED
The corn has turned from grey to red, Since first my spirit wandered forth From the drear cities of the north, And to Italia's mountains fled.
And here I set my face towards home, For all my pilgrimage is done, Although, methinks, yon blood-red sun Marshals the way to Holy Rome.
O Blessed Lady, who dost hold Upon the seven hills thy reign!
O Mother without blot or stain, Crowned with bright crowns of triple gold!
O Roma, Roma, at thy feet I lay this barren gift of song!
For, ah! the way is steep and long That leads unto thy sacred street.
