ROOM for the proud! Ye sons of clay, From far his sweeping pomp survey, Nor, rashly curious, clog the way His chariot wheels before! Lo! with what scorn his lofty eye Glances o'er age and poverty, And bids intruding conscience fly Far from his palace door! Room for the proud! but slow the feet That bear his coffin down the street: And dismal seems his winding-sheet Who purple lately wore! Ah! where must now his spirit fly In naked, trembling agony; Or how shall he for mercy cry, Who show'd it not before! Room for the proud! in ghastly state The lords of hell his coming wait, And flinging wide the dreadful gate That shuts to ope no more. "Lo here with us the seat," they cry, "For him who mock'd at poverty, And bade intruding conscience fly Far from his palace door." | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ENGLAND'S DEAD by FELICIA DOROTHEA HEMANS HOMAGE TO SEXTUS PROPERTIUS: 7 by EZRA POUND MINSTREL OF THE SUN by FREDERICK HENRY HERBERT ADLER LINES FOR THE HOUR by HAMILTON FISH ARMSTRONG HERITAGE by THERESA VIRGINIA BEARD |