At last I kneel in Rome, the bourne, the goal <br />Of what a multitude of laden hearts! <br />No pilgrim of them all a wearier soul <br />Brought ever here, no master of dark arts <br />A spirit vexed with more discordant parts, <br />No beggar a scrip barer of all dole; <br />No son, alas, steps sorer with the darts <br />Of that rebellious sorrow, his sin's toll. <br />I kneel and make an offering of my care <br />And folly, and hurt reason. Who would not <br />In this fair city be the fool of prayer? <br />Who would not kneel, if only for the lot <br />Of being born again--a soul forgiven, <br />Clothed in new childhood and the light of Heaven?<br /><br />Wilfrid Scawen Blunt<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-new-pilgrimage-sonnet-xxxv/
