WHAT are to me those honours or renown Past or to come, a new-born people's cry? Albeit for such I could despise a crown Of aught save laurel, or for such could die, I am a fool of passion, and a frown Of thine to me is as an adder's eye. To the poor bird whose pinion fluttering down Wafts unto death the breast it bore so high; Such is this maddening fascination grown, So strong thy magic or so weak am I. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE SAILOR TO HIS PARROT by WILLIAM HENRY DAVIES THE ABBOT OF INISFALEN by WILLIAM ALLINGHAM IN THE DEEP WHITE SNOW by ANNE ATWOOD VERSES TO THE MEMORY OF P. BURGESS; A CHILD OF SUPERIOR ENDOWMENTS by BERNARD BARTON THE VISION OF SPRING, 1916 by HENRY HOWARTH BASHFORD |