(For Sara Teasdale) The lonely farm, the crowded street, The palace and the slum, Give welcome to my silent feet As, bearing gifts, I come. Last night a beggar crouched alone, A ragged helpless thing; I set him on a moonbeam throne -- Today he is a king. Last night a king in orb and crown Held court with splendid cheer; Today he tears his purple gown And moans and shrieks in fear. Not iron bars, nor flashing spears, Not land, nor sky, nor sea, Nor love's artillery of tears Can keep mine own from me. Serene, unchanging, ever fair, I smile with secret mirth And in a net of mine own hair I swing the captive earth. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...AN ANCIENT PROVERB by WILLIAM BLAKE EPITAPHS OF THE WAR, 1914-18: A DEAD STATESMAN by RUDYARD KIPLING TWO POEMS TO HANS THOMA ON HIS SIXIETH BIRTHDAY: 1. MOONLIGHT NIGHT by RAINER MARIA RILKE IN MEMORIAM A.H.H.: 119 by ALFRED TENNYSON TO MY READERS by ALEXANDER ANDERSON |