I AM Venezia, that Sad Magdalen, Who with her lovers' arms the turbaned East Smote, and through lusty centuries of gain Lived a wild queen of battle and of feast. I netted, in gold meshes of my hair, The great of soul; painter and poet, priest, Bent at my will with picture, song, and prayer, And ever love of me their fame increased, Till I, queen, became the slave of slaves, And, like the ghost-kings of the Umbrian plain, Saw from my centuries torn, as from their graves, The priceless jewels of my haughty reign. Gone are my days of gladness; now in vain I hurt the tender with my speechless pain. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...BEFORE THE BIRTH OF ONE OF HER CHILDREN by ANNE BRADSTREET ALONZO THE BRAVE AND THE FAIR IMOGINE by MATTHEW GREGORY LEWIS THE OLD SWIMMIN'-HOLE by JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY SMOKE IN WINTER by HENRY DAVID THOREAU IN THE CATACOMBS by HARLAN HOUSE BALLARD THE SERVANT by JOSEPH BEAUMONT |