<h2><SPAN name="page63"></SPAN><span class="pagenum"></span>ON SEEING ‘THE HOUSE OF JULIA’ AT HERCULANEUM</h2>
<p class="poetry">Not great Vesuvius, in all his ire,<br/>
Nor all the centuries, could hide your shame.<br/>
There is the little window where you came,<br/>
With eyes that woke the demon of desire,<br/>
And lips like rose leaves, fashioned out of fire;<br/>
And from the lava leaps the molten flame<br/>
Of your old sins. The walls cry out your
name—<br/>
Your face seems rising from the funeral pyre.</p>
<p class="poetry">There must have dwelt, within your fated
town,<br/>
Full many a virtuous dame, and noble wife<br/>
Who made your beauty seem as star
to sun;<br/>
How strange the centuries have handed down<br/>
Your name, fair Julia, of immoral life,<br/>
And left the others to
oblivion.</p>
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