WHOM I loved Fortune loved not; Whom I remember are forgot As though they never breathed this air That to my listening soul sighs, "Where?" My saints have on the earth no shrine Save in this shattered heart of mine Whose trembling walls are sinking fast, Whose incense hath not long to last. My prophets none did heed nor trust; My conquerors, conquered, bit the dust. Not with their latest breath they knew That deeds of theirs could none undo. Nor consciousness of might or right Sustained them in the gathering night, But in all self-abasement they From the great battle passed away. Oh, somewhere be it otherwise Than under these occluding skies! Somewhere, in unimagined ways, Be scored their triumph and their praise! Where'er they dwell, to earth unknown, I am content if me they own Among their number, -- theirs forgot, Unsung, unshrined, exalted not, -- And if their shining brows (unstarred) But bend on me their long regard, And if their silence saith, "Have peace, From tears for us, or paeans, cease!" | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...HIS LADY'S HAND by THOMAS WYATT EPISTLE TO AUGUSTA by GEORGE GORDON BYRON GASCOIGNE'S WOODMANSHIP by GEORGE GASCOIGNE LINES TO A MOVEMENT IN MOZART'S E-FLAT SYMPHONY by THOMAS HARDY A BED OF FORGET-ME-NOTS by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI |