The sun for you is always setting
On New and Ancient Rome,
And eyes, in evening light, forgetting
The path that leads to home.

The wheels invest,

The hours dressed

From May to mourning weeds,

And speak of death,

So look ye West

And bear your souls to me!

A darkness sits upon the city,
A hush becalms the sea.
And stars blink out their votive-spillings,
And Caesar dreams beneath.

And he wakes not

Enrobed in rot,

He dreams of Roman day,

Which is but caught

To be then lost

As visions, broken, flee away.

So, flee the burning city, bid
Creusa’s soul to sleep.
Thyself of every anchor rid
Which holds thee from the reef

Beyond which shines

The brimming wine

Spilt from the dripping Sun,

Back to its vine

For which souls pine

With fevered eye and tongue.

And look away, today’s horizon
Beckons thee but beyond
Thy world, so stoutly keep thine eyes on
The land where youth hath gone.

Thine anchors shed!

Thy sail be spread!

Cleave not to land or wife—

Nor turn thy head

To mourn the dead

And lose my Paradise.