You look for Rome in Rome, O peregrine!
And find in Rome that Rome Herself is gone:
The walls She flaunted are a corpse of stone,
A tomb for its own self, the Aventine.
Here rests, where once it reigned, the Palatine
And those medallions scoured by Time show more
Old battle damage from the constant war
Of ages, than the escutcheoned Latin sign.
Only the Tiber has remained, whose flow
Watered the town's growth, weeping at its grave
A teary stream in mournful tones of woe.
O Rome in beauty and greatness of Thy past
All that stood firm has fled, and nothing save
What runs in transience remains to last.