Where is the pride for which I once was blamed, My vanity which held its head so high? Who would believe them, seeing me thus tamed, Thus subject, here as at thy feet I lie, Pleading for love which now is all my life, Craving a word for memory's rage to keep, Asking a sign to still my inward strife, Petitioning a touch to soothe my sleep? Who would now guess them, as I kiss the ground On which the feet of him I love have trod, And bow before his voice whose least sweet sound Speaks louder to me than the voice of God; And knowing all the while that one dark day, Spite of my worship, thou wilt turn away? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ECHOES: 9 by WILLIAM ERNEST HENLEY CENTENNIAL MEDITATION OF COLUMBIA by SIDNEY LANIER NEW ENGLAND'S DEAD! by ISAAC MCLELLAN JR. WHISPERS OF HEAVENLY DEATH by WALT WHITMAN A RECEIPT TO CURE THE VAPOURS by MARY WORTLEY MONTAGU MORTAL JEALOUSY by PHILIP AYRES |