Classic Poem

Here , where Returning Fortune's precincts shine,
Was erst the place where stood our lord divine,
Graced with the noble dust of northern fight
And shedding from his face refulgent light,
While Rome did greet her chief in white array
With voice and hand, her locks enwreathed with bay.
Great is its fame; for here besides there stands
The arch triumphant over conquered lands,
With droves of elephants and chariots twain
Wherein our golden chief doth hold the rein.
This gate, true entry to the War-God's town
Befits thy triumphs, Sire; so all men own.