I MARKED in the midst of the glittering throng A figure all bent and retreating; His raiment was shabby, and bearded his face, His gaze was bewildering and fleeting; And those whose drossiness glared through the gilt Guffawed a contemptuous greeting. Intently I peered in his time lined face And read there his marvellous story; His brows were large with the wisdom of pain, His locks by affliction made hoary; A memory lurked in the depth of his eyes, A prayer and a vision of glory. A mem'ry aglow with the splendors of old, A prayer of patience and yearning, And a vision of Home that gleamed in the dark, Through ages of weary sojourning; Yet they of the gilded and glittering throng Had naught but derision and spurning. He folded a dream to his quivering heart And nursed it through vigils of ages; He gave it the blood of his life to absorb Yet mockery now is his wages. Shall this be the word his story to close, A jeer be the last of its pages? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE FOREFATHER by RICHARD EUGENE BURTON WAR IS KIND: 23 by STEPHEN CRANE THE VOICE OF THE SEA by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH MILLCREEK by MATTIE-LOU BLACKWOOD BELLS by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN |