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Before this pyre we stand my son, Within this hallowed shrine. Gods, let the flames be seen throughout Hispania one last time.  
The eternal city Astonishing, adventurous, and ancient It’s cobblestone pathways enclave the journey into the past Unravelling the concealed stories behind the
      don't give me poems of spring or empty words of love       don't gift me roses or rings  or all the gold in Rome       don't sell me to princes or kings for I'll be locked in a tower
The boiling sun beaming off of the vibrant multicolored fruits, resting on the wooden boxes in the middle of a typical Sunday afternoon marketplace. The smell of freshly picked flowers being sold for only 2 euros.
It is fine workmanship, too be sure.See, there-- look how small the tiles are,How intricately they do capture the detailOf fair Poseidon's face.They call him Earth-Shaker, Rain-God, Cloud-Gatherer.
Legs like towering columns 
Befriended street lamps' static humTimed steps slashed through electric buzzFled from the dawn's grey stainchased night with anxious breath                                              erupting
Arise, arise Caesar said, as he addressed his troubled nation. You all agree that mighty Rome, is in need of a new foundation. For nor you or I can dignify, the recent struggling peace,
What if the harmony of saints and sinners / Broke in moments o’er passing of bread? / Temporal and shallow, this generation envisage / Martyrdom, not white but red /
There was once a young, restless hero of Rome, Who wandered the lands, searching for a home. This he did until he dreamed, (“A great sign from the gods,” he deemed); That he would journey to find Delphi,
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