They called him King; and I would have no King: Let all be equal, ay, let none be best. Why should the weakling John be ever pressed Against his bosom, Peter urged to fling His clumsy zeal about, while I must bring, Forsooth, the bag behind, and feed the rest, Never be praised or flattered or caressed, Although so watchful in my stewarding? They called him Son of God. In rage I saw This vain idolatry. Was I not wise, Not honest, not in truth administering The holy precepts of our sacred law?— Oh, God! Those pleading, tender, earnest eyes! Oh, God! Oh, God! why did I do this thing? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A GRAMMARIAN'S FUNERAL by ROBERT BROWNING IN THE GARDEN (1) by EMILY DICKINSON PROMETHEUS BOUND: PROMETHEUS THE TEACHER OF MEN by AESCHYLUS HAPPINESS THROUGH THE YEAR by J. MARGARET CRUTE ASHCRAFT NIGHT LAUGHTER by LEONARD BACON (1887-1954) |