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Read more poems by Oscar Wilde: Oscar Wilde Poems at Poetry X.

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."

Added: 25 Mar 2002 | Last Read: 5 Sep 2008 9:03 AM | Viewed: 2554 times

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