There is no way that I can match the beauty of Horatius poem, but I'm sure that the eternal city, Urbs, was as stunning to him then as it is to me now.
"Ask not ('tis forbidden knowledge), what our destined term of years,
Mine and yours; nor scan the tables of your Babylonish seers.
Better far to bear the future, my Leuconoe, like the past,
Whether Jove has many winters yet to give, or this our last;
This, that makes the Tyrrhene billows spend their strength against the shore.
Strain your wine and prove your wisdom; life is short; should hope be more?
In the moment of our talking, envious time has ebb'd away.
Seize the present; trust tomorrow e'en as little as you may."
Q. Horatius Flaccus - Odes I.11
Translated by J Conington