I AM the dark inheritor of woe, The Prince of Aquitaine whose palace spire Lies low in dust. My star is dead. The wire Of my starr'd lute burns with an ebon glow. Into the grave's night send Pausilippo, Blue Latin seas; and let my soul respire The flower that won my weary heart's desire, The trellis where the rose and vine-leaf grow. Am I Love or the Moon ...? Lusignan or Biron ...? My brow's still rosy with the Queen's hot kiss; I have swooned in sea-caves where the syren is ... Twice have I overborne Hell's surge: I won The lyre of Orpheus to sad melodies Of saints, with fairies in loud antiphon. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE PASSING OF THE EX-SLAVE by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON OWL AGAINST ROBIN by SIDNEY LANIER THE HEART'S RETURN by EDWIN MARKHAM THE JOY OF THE HILLS by EDWIN MARKHAM UNDER A PATCHED SAIL by MARIANNE MOORE |