Deem not, because you see me in the press Of this world's children run my fated race, That I blaspheme against a proffered grace, Or leave unlearned the love of holiness. I honour not that sanctity the less Whose aureole illumines not my face, But dare not tread the secret, holy place To which the priest and prophet have access. For some are born to be beatified By anguish, and by grievous penance done; And some, to furnish forth the age's pride, And to be praised of men beneath the sun; And some are born to stand perplexed aside From so much sorrow -- of whom I am one. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...EPILOGUE TO DRAMATIS PERSONAE by ROBERT BROWNING AT SUNSET TIME by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR FEBRUARY THAW by KENNETH SLADE ALLING PARLIAMENT OF WOMEN: PRAXAGORA REHEARSES by ARISTOPHANES THE TIMES by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD |