Important Post
One Grows To Love The Roman Fountains As Sea-Born Men The Sea. Go Where
You Will There Is The Water; Whether It Foams By Trevi, Where The Green
Moss Grows In It Like Ocean Weed About The Feet Of The Ocean God, Or
Whether It Rushes Reddened By The Evening Light, From The Mouth Of An
Old Lion That Once Saw Cleopatra; Whether It Leaps High In Air, Trying
To Reach The Gold Cross On St. Peter's Or Pours Its Triple Cascade Over
The Pauline Granite; Whether It Spouts Out Of A Great Barrel In A Wall
In Old Trastevere, Or Throws Up Into The Air A Gossamer As Fine As
Arachne's Web In A Green Garden Way Where The Lizards Run, Or In A
Crowded Corner Where The Fruit-Sellers Sit Against The Wall;--In All Its
Shapes One Grows To Love The Water That Fills Rome With An Unchanging
Melody All Through The Year.
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