Where is the pride for which I once was blamed, My vanity which held its head so high? Who would believe them, seeing me thus tamed, Thus subject, here as at thy feet I lie, Pleading for love which now is all my life, Craving a word for memory's rage to keep, Asking a sign to still my inward strife, Petitioning a touch to soothe my sleep? Who would now guess them, as I kiss the ground On which the feet of him I love have trod, And bow before his voice whose least sweet sound Speaks louder to me than the voice of God; And knowing all the while that one dark day, Spite of my worship, thou wilt turn away? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...IN THIS DARK HOUSE by EDWARD DAVISON EPIGRAM: A BURNT SHIP by JOHN DONNE CRADLE SONG AT TWILIGHT by ALICE MEYNELL REJECTED ADDRESSES: THE BABY'S DEBUT, BY W. W. by JAMES SMITH (1775-1839) JOHN UNDERHILL by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER YARROW VISITED by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH THE ART OF PRESERVING HEALTH: BOOK 2. THE GASTRIC MUSE by JOHN ARMSTRONG THE VIKING by CLARIBEL WEEKS AVERY THE ELDER'S WARNING; A LAY OF THE CONVOCATION by WILLIAM EDMONSTOUNE AYTOUN |