Go thou to Rome,—at once the Paradise,#
The grave, the city, and the wilderness;#
And where its wrecks like shattered mountains rise,#
And flowering weeds, and fragrant copses dress#
The bones of Desolation’s nakedness#
Pass, till the spirit of the spot shall lead#
Thy footsteps to a slope of green access#
Where, like an infant’s smile, over the dead#
A light of laughing flowers along the grass is spread …#
— Percy Bysshe Shelley, Adonais, 49.