Time was, no archer with impunity Pierced my proud armor. Never arrow flew But passed its mate midway. Whose livery The bowman wore I took no heed, nor knew What master artisan with faultless craft Had forged the arrows, till one hour of stress When stricken sore I drew the splintered shaft And found engraven on it, I.H.S. O Arrow-Maker with the wounded hands, My bitterness is shattered into tears, And now at length my dull heart understands The need of pain. I wait the coming years With empty quiver and a slackening string, Disarmed before the archers of the King. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ANTONY AND [OR, TO] CLEOPATRA by WILLIAM HAINES LYTLE THE CHILD ALONE: 3. MY KINGDOM by ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON IN MEMORIAM A.H.H.: PROEM by ALFRED TENNYSON THE HUNTER'S SONG by WILLIAM BASSE WINTER WIZARDRY by LAURA S. BECK THE WILD DOVES by GEORGES BOUTELLEAU |