A Present from Rome

                               for Daniel

Were I to hang old Rome about my shoulder,

And melt in it, like air in mighty air,

Were I to taste its spice, I would make bolder,

To shake free, shake out many a putto fair.

I would haunt laughingly this rambling city,

Outdoing her shrieks with my sprite-like turns,

Out of which would arise a thing so witty,

Perceiving which, we could forget our yearns.

My cloak, myself cut lovely through our space,

Transforming form into a music drift,

From everywhere music looks in my face

Wedded to rays and shadow, wondrous gift.

Thus ’gainst all hectic am I quite immune,

Singing and showing forth my wayward tune.

 

                  

© 2012 • Albrecht Wilkens, Hortensienstr. 2, 12203 Berlin, Germany • mail(at)albrechtwilkens.com

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