I'm like some king in whose corrupted veins Flows aged blood; who rules a land of rains; Who, young in years, is old in all distress; Who flees good counsel to find weariness Among his dogs and playthings, who is stirred Neither by hunting-hound nor hunting-bird; Whose weary face emotion moves no more E'en when his people die before his door. His favourite Jester's most fantastic wile Upon that sick, cruel face can raise no smile; The courtly dames, to whom all kings are good, Can lighten this young skeleton's dull mood No more with shameless toilets. In his gloom Even his lilied bed becomes a tomb. The sage who takes his gold essays in vain To purge away the old corrupted strain, His baths of blood, that in the days of old The Romans used when their hot blood grew cold, Will never warm this dead man's bloodless pains, For green Lethean water fills his veins. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TO HIS MISTRESS by ROBERT HERRICK IMAGES: 3 by RICHARD ALDINGTON THE RIVAL CELESTIAL by WILLIAM ROSE BENET IN A LETTER TO A.R.C. ON HER WISHING TO BE CALLED ANNA by MATILDA BARBARA BETHAM-EDWARDS MEN OF HARLAN by WILLIAM ASPENWALL BRADLEY THOUGHTS NEAR ASHAMPSTEAD AERODROME, HARVEST-TIME by CHARLES WILLIAM BRODRIBB F.B.C.; CHANCELLORSVILLE, MAY 3, 1863 by WILLIAM ALLEN BUTLER PRACTISING THE ANTHEM by ADA CAMBRIDGE OLNEY HYMNS: 39. LOOKING UPWARDS IN A STORM by WILLIAM COWPER |