Here you will find thePoemA New Pilgrimage: Sonnet XLof poet Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
Here therefore ends my sad soul's pilgrimage, In tears for sin and half--redeemed desire. She was unworthy her high martyr's rage, Or to be wholly purified by fire. O Rome, thy ways are narrow and aspire Too straitly for the knees of this halt age, And, with the multitude, her forces tire, Even while she holds thee fast, her heritage. Path of sublime perfection upon Earth! Your's is it in the clamour of vain days To guard the calm eternal of Man's birth And like an eagle to renew his days. Give me your blessing, angels, ere I go, Angels that guard the bridge of Angelo.
