I saw his face to-day; he looks a chief Who fears not human rage, nor human guile; Upon his cheeks the twilight of a grief, But in that grief the starlight of a smile. Deep, gentle eyes, with drooping lids that tell They are the homes where tears of sorrow dwell; A low voice -- strangely sweet -- whose very tone Tells how these lips speak oft with God alone. I kissed his hand, I fain would kiss his feet; "No, no," he said; and then, in accents sweet, His blessing fell upon my bended head. He bade me rise; a few more words he said, Then took me by the hand -- the while he smiled -- And, going, whispered: "Pray for me, my child." | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...JAWEH AND ALLAH BATTLE by ALLEN GINSBERG THURSDAY by WILLIAM CARLOS WILLIAMS CYCLAMENS by KATHERINE HARRIS BRADLEY DE PROFUNDIS by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING SPRING QUIET by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI FOR THE INAUGURATION OF A PUBLIC SCHOOL, CAMDEN, NEW JERSEY by WALT WHITMAN TO EMILY DICKINSON by MARY BOWEN BRAINERD |