I AM Venezia, that Sad Magdalen, Who with her lovers' arms the turbaned East Smote, and through lusty centuries of gain Lived a wild queen of battle and of feast. I netted, in gold meshes of my hair, The great of soul; painter and poet, priest, Bent at my will with picture, song, and prayer, And ever love of me their fame increased, Till I, queen, became the slave of slaves, And, like the ghost-kings of the Umbrian plain, Saw from my centuries torn, as from their graves, The priceless jewels of my haughty reign. Gone are my days of gladness; now in vain I hurt the tender with my speechless pain. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE LIVING STARS by GEORGE SANTAYANA ESTHER; A YOUNG MAN'S TRAGEDY: 50 by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT TO ROSAMONDE: A BALADE by GEOFFREY CHAUCER THE BABIE by JEREMIAH EAMES RANKIN COLIN CLOUTS COME HOME AGAIN by EDMUND SPENSER THE SINGER IN THE PRISON by WALT WHITMAN COUNTRY DOCTOR by DANA KNEELAND AKERS |