Chapter VI

Outside the gates when walking,
I see of life no trace;
There is the wide-spread graveyard
Of the ancient Roman race.

They rest from love and hatred,
From pleasure, strife, and guilt;
There in the Appian Way are
Their tombs of marble built

A tower greets me, gilded
By the setting sun's last rays--
Caecilia Metella,
At thy proud tomb I gaze.

My eyes are turning northward,
As 'mid this pile I stand;
My thoughts are swiftly flying
Far from this southern land,

On to another tower,
With stones of smaller size;
By the shady vine-clad window
I see my love's sweet eyes.