A familiar reflection in pools,
Hidden amid mind’s cavernous crevice,
Visions – the smiling young man of today,
How, now, shall time, your misery’s mason,
Sullying, with hammer, chip you away?
I do not long for that dread, dreary day,
When all sensation shall then slip away;
What, then, all ruined in age, shall you say?
It is barbaric, it is so damned crass,
That this, the regal summit of your Rome,
Shall be a mere twenty years, come to pass,
Whilst there the Vandals and the Goths amass;
We are all doomed to see them swarn the gate,
The Tiber’s banks run red as youth abates.