A BEGGAR walked in front of me, In ribboned rags, disastrously; Mopping the puddled rain with pads Long worn in guttered Iliads. Halting, with eyes downcast, intent Upon the splashing stones he went. He heard me, and with lifted head Waited my coming, as I said, To ask an alms; but, as he turned, His eyes with distant glory burned. He did not ask an alms; he held A finger up, and I was spelled. He did not ask an alms; he said, 'The ancient honours all are sped. 'The ancient honours all are gone That founded Rome and Babylon. 'These rags were once Arabia's boast; I was a king, and am a ghost. 'The lifting of my hand was doom; In Egypt they have found my tomb.' He went, a beggar-man again, Into the shadows and the rain. |