Deem not, because you see me in the press Of this world's children run my fated race, That I blaspheme against a proffered grace, Or leave unlearned the love of holiness. I honour not that sanctity the less Whose aureole illumines not my face, But dare not tread the secret, holy place To which the priest and prophet have access. For some are born to be beatified By anguish, and by grievous penance done; And some, to furnish forth the age's pride, And to be praised of men beneath the sun; And some are born to stand perplexed aside From so much sorrow -- of whom I am one. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...OLNEY HYMNS: 9. THE CONTRITE HEART by WILLIAM COWPER VICTOR GALBRAITH by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW PRO PATRIA MORI by THOMAS MOORE MESSMATES by HENRY JOHN NEWBOLT VIRGILS GNAT: DEDICATORY SONNET by EDMUND SPENSER THE MITHERLESS BAIRN by WILLIAM THOM PRIAPUS AND THE POOL: 4 by CONRAD AIKEN |