On its late (in 1871) Inundation of Rome <br /> <br />Well done, old Flood, that, hiding a clear eye <br />Beneath thy yellow veil, dost wend among <br />Those epic hills and dales of seven-topp'd song, <br />To keep watch on the stone eternity <br />Whereof the mortal tenants die and die; <br />One more is gone, the deadliest of the long <br />Line, the foul vast of whose unmeasured wrong <br />Twined to its summit in the triple Lie <br />Of that thrice-cursèd Crown. And thou, brave flood, <br />Enterest a thousand years of carrion <br />To swill away the deeps of dung and blood, <br />And drown the garbaged tribes that stank thereon, <br />That so, at least, the new investiture <br />Be on clean threshold and a hearth-stone pure.<br /><br />Sydney Thompson Dobell<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/to-the-tiber/
