I visited Keats’ and Shelley’s graves today in Rome’s Protestant Cemetery. It’s a beautiful site, plush with flowers, trees and amazing gravestones inscribed with heart wrenching final sentiments from those left behind. I bought this book of poems from the minuscule bookshop on site. It’s written in Italian and the ‘original English’ and includes poems from both poets, a fitting publication for friends whose bond extends beyond the grave. Rome is a mess of sound. I’ll wait to read it in the peace and quiet of London.