In the thirtieth year of my age I have now drunk deeply of shame, Not all a fool, not all a sage, And not without a little pain, Most of which was forced to meet At the hands of Thibault d'Aussigny. If he's a bishop blessing the streets, Blessings he'll never bestow on mel | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...AN OLD WOMAN: 2. HARVEST by EDITH SITWELL AN ODE IN TIME OF HESITATION by WILLIAM VAUGHN MOODY THE MESSIAH by MABEL WARREN ARNOLD TO MRS. PRIESTLEY, WITH SOME DRAWINGS OF BIRDS AND INSECTS by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD THE BLIND GIRL OF CASTEL-CUILLE by JACQUES BOE A SERENADE AT THE VILLA by ROBERT BROWNING |