THOSE whom nor power, nor lying faith, nor toil, Nor custom, queen of many slaves, makes blind, Have ever grieved that man should be the spoil Of his own weakness, and with earnest mind Fed hopes of its redemption; these recur Chastened by deathful victory now, and find Foundations in this foulest age, and stir Me whom they cheer to be their minister. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A PRAYER IN SPRING by ROBERT FROST THE SEA GYPSY [OR GIPSY] by RICHARD HOVEY BLACK AND BLUE EYES by THOMAS MOORE THE SMACK IN SCHOOL by WILLIAM PITT PALMER IN THE FOREST by JOHANNA AMBROSIUS FOUR SONNETS: 4 by FRANK DAVIS ASHBURN |