A Sunlit Rome
What do we need to from dead earth ensure
The birth of garden green?
How does the sculptor make marble decree
As if he speaketh stone?
Where in the clouds does the musician listen
To hear the angels dream?
How might the poet write unto himself
So he is never lone?
And painter, when will thou confess to how
Your brush knoweth my name?
In verity, do tell—
How I can reach into the midnight well
And raise a sunlit Rome.