I MARKED in the midst of the glittering throng A figure all bent and retreating; His raiment was shabby, and bearded his face, His gaze was bewildering and fleeting; And those whose drossiness glared through the gilt Guffawed a contemptuous greeting. Intently I peered in his time lined face And read there his marvellous story; His brows were large with the wisdom of pain, His locks by affliction made hoary; A memory lurked in the depth of his eyes, A prayer and a vision of glory. A mem'ry aglow with the splendors of old, A prayer of patience and yearning, And a vision of Home that gleamed in the dark, Through ages of weary sojourning; Yet they of the gilded and glittering throng Had naught but derision and spurning. He folded a dream to his quivering heart And nursed it through vigils of ages; He gave it the blood of his life to absorb Yet mockery now is his wages. Shall this be the word his story to close, A jeer be the last of its pages? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE EXILE TO HIS WIFE by JOSEPH BRENAN CATARINA TO CAMOENS by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING WRITTEN AFTER SWIMMING FROM SESTOS TO ABYDOS by GEORGE GORDON BYRON O SLEEP, MY BABE! by SARA COLERIDGE OH, SWEET CONTENT by WILLIAM HENRY DAVIES |