Tiber, Nile, And Thames

THE head and hands of murdered Cicero, Above his seat high in the Forum hung, Drew jeers and burning tears. When on the rung Of a swift-mounted ladder, all aglow, Fluvia, Mark Antony's shameless wife, with show Of foot firm-poised and gleaming arm upflung, Bade her sharp needle pierce that god-like tongue Whose speech fed Rome even as the Tiber's flow. And thou, Cleopatra's Needle, that hadst thrid Great skirts of Time ere she and Antony hid Dead hope!—hast thou too reached, surviving death, A city of sweet speech scorned,—on whose chill stone Keats withered, Coleridge pined, and Chatterton, Breadless, with poison froze the God-fired breath?