A POOR old king, with sorrow for my crown, Throned upon straw, and mantled with the wind -- For pity, my own tears have made me blind That I might never see my children's frown; And, may be, Madness, like a friend, has thrown A folded fillet over my dark mind, So that unkindly speech may sound for kind -- Albeit I know not. -- I am childish grown -- And have not gold to purchase wit withal -- I that have once maintain'd most royal state -- A very bankrupt now that may not call My child my child -- all beggar'd save in tears, Wherewith I daily weep an old man's fate, Foolish -- and blind -- and overcome with years! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ONE FAVORED ACORN by ROBERT FROST SURFACES AND MASKS; 4 by CLARENCE MAJOR MOTHER AND POET; TURIN, AFTER THE NEWS FROM GAETA, 1861 by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING SONNET: 57 by WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE MANNERLY MARGERY, MILK AND ALE by JOHN SKELTON THE SHEPHEARDES CALENDER: DEDICATORY SONNET by EDMUND SPENSER |