I am old, old, old. . .
My seven hills knew the ancient mortals.
I was long the pride of kings
and the dread of the doomed.
Queen was I of civilization:
of justice, of order, of decadence, of cruelty.

Dare you enter, dare you see?
Dare you know, stranger, my ancientry?
'Ware! Walk not carelessly.
Come and consider man’s history.

Sit not upon the steps to gaze
at the ruinous remains of the grassy maze,
where emperors and masses cheered,
where lions roared and prisoners feared.
Speak not of this Coliseum
without paying the tribute of remembrance.

Walk not upon my Sacred Way
without a care for former days.
Tread wonderingly upon my stones
where passed many feet besides your own:
so long ago in far-gone years. . .
Stay a moment, can you hear—
Caesar's triumph, marching men,
market carts and squawking hens,
the tired dirge of beggars’ moans,
the clank of chains, slaves’ hopeless groans,
wealthy Romans' learned mutter,
a nearby fountain’s dirty splutter—
Listen well to sounds of the Sacred Way:
forget not soon the ancient days.
Step not upon this aged road
without paying the tribute of remembrance.

Close not your eyes to the statues strong
stop not your ears to their silent song—
the song of the fathers, martyrs, saints
keeping pillared watch o'er St. Peter's gates.
Under the great basilica's dome
continues still their reverent tone.
Stay, stranger, stay, and strain your ears:
join in their song of godly fear—
A song of pain, of nail-pierced hands
A song of aliens in the land
A song of tombs and catacombs,
The cost of the journey, the joy of home,
A song of stillness, a song of light
A song of those who fought the good fight—
Here in the dimness, kneel and pray
the cloud of witnesses hears you say,
"I will not sing the blessed song
without paying the tribute of remembrance."

Come, I dare you, come and see:
Here discover my ancientry
Dare to behold, look carefully.
Consider now my history.
I am Rome.