III

 Unlike are we, unlike, O princely Heart !
Unlike our uses and our destinies.

Our ministering two angels look surprise
On one another, as they strike athwart
Their wings in passing.
 Thou, bethink thee, art
A guest for queens to social pageantries,
With gages from a hundred brighter eyes
Than tears even can make mine, to play thy part
Of chief musician.
 What hast thou to do
With looking from the lattice-lights at me,
A poor, tired, wandering singer, singing through
The dark, and leaning up a cypress tree ?
The chrism is on thine head,--on mine, the dew,--
And Death must dig the level where these agree.

Biography | Poems | Best Poems | Short Poems | Quotes | Email Poem |

Poems are below...