HOW grand he would have stood, had he declined The needless coronet he donned, as though Its gilt could heighten his proud aureole's glow. But downward he has stepped, a seat to find -- Not with the lords of that imperial kind Whose simple manhood, fed by love and truth, Found far from monarchs' courts perennial youth In the ideal gardens of the mind; -- But in a throng of blank nobilities In outward fellowship of lip and eye -- Of empty forms and hollow courtesies; Thou art become as one of us -- they cry. Another shape than thine must now be worn. Son of the morning -- how thy beams are shorn! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...BROTHERS by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON UPON THE DEATH OF SIR ALBERT MORTON'S WIFE by MARCUS VALERIUS MARTIALIS ON THE DEATH OF A METAPHYSICIAN by GEORGE SANTAYANA PRAYER by ANTON ALEXANDER VON AUERSPERG STANZAS TO WILLIAM ROSCOE, ESQ. by BERNARD BARTON MESSAGES by HARRY RANDOLPH BLYTHE |