XXIX <br /> <br />As Cleopatra's pearl dissolved in wine, <br />Made her rich draught the boast of olden days,-- <br />The shame and wonder of our meaner ways, <br />Who grudge the chalice to the very shrine; <br />So when thy love in this poor heart of mine <br />Dissolves its wealth, within my nature plays <br />A richer spirit, and my drooping bays <br />Sprout like the prophet's rod, and somewhat shine. <br />Like the Egyptian's draught, I trust to hold <br />My storied place amongst the men to be; <br />Not all alone, securely joined to thee, <br />In some dim fragment of a legend old: <br />Not for mere me the history shall be told, <br />But, precious pearl, for what was lost in me.<br /><br />George Henry Boker<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sonnet-xxix-5/
