Impressed upon the gem like honeycomb -
carnelian, set in a golden band -
it conjures mighty oceans made of sand
that formed the shifting southern reach of Rome.
Far from the hub of friends, heartsick for home,
a minion or an emissary of trade
evokes, beneath date-clusters in the shade,
the seven hills, each one a sacred dome.
He dreams of marble squares where fountains play,
philosophers and poets joust with state,
and Dido's Carthage is a world away…
Beneath the spiky fronds of this far strand
a peacock struts, his gaudy feathers fanned,
oblivious of empire and of fate.
Intaglio on a Roman Ring
© Copyright: Jena Woodhouse, 2004
Свидетельство о публикации №104051900254
Свидетельство о публикации №104051900254
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