Capuan Delights and Imperial Laurels

In glories’ light, beneath Rome’s grand arch,  
Where laurels crown and trumpets sound,  
The Capuan stands, his heart grown harsh,  
For victory’s cheer feels hollow, profound

Caesar's praise, the spoils of war,  
Adorn his name with honored pride,  
Yet thoughts of home, of streets afar,  
Do fill his soul, where memories bide

O Capua, city of sunlit stones,  
Where olive groves and vineyards bloom,  
Thy gentle breeze, thy quiet tones,  
Contrast the triumph’s fleeting plume.

For here in Rome, amidst the throng,  
The centurion’s heart doth feel the strain,  
Of distant fields where he belongs,  
Where life was pure, devoid of pain

The blood-soaked ground, the clash of steel,  
Have won him fame, yet lost him peace,  
In Capua’s arms, he'd wish to heal,  
And let the echoes of war's cry cease

The triumph fades, as shadows grow,  
The path of conquest lined with rue,  
For all the glory Caesar bestows,  
He yearns for home, where skies are blue