I am poor and old and blind; <br />The sun burns me, and the wind <br />Blows through the city gate <br />And covers me with dust <br />From the wheels of the august <br />Justinian the Great. <br /> <br />It was for him I chased <br />The Persians o'er wild and waste, <br />As General of the East; <br />Night after night I lay <br />In their camps of yesterday; <br />Their forage was my feast. <br /> <br />For him, with sails of red, <br />And torches at mast-head, <br />Piloting the great fleet, <br />I swept the Afric coasts <br />And scattered the Vandal hosts, <br />Like dust in a windy street. <br /> <br />For him I won again <br />The Ausonian realm and reign, <br />Rome and Parthenope; <br />And all the land was mine <br />From the summits of Apennine <br />To the shores of either sea. <br /> <br />For him, in my feeble age, <br />I dared the battle's rage, <br />To save Byzantium's state, <br />When the tents of Zabergan, <br />Like snow-drifts overran <br />The road to the Golden Gate. <br /> <br />And for this, for this, behold! <br />Infirm and blind and old, <br />With gray, uncovered head, <br />Beneath the very arch <br />Of my triumphal march, <br />I stand and beg my bread! <br /> <br />Methinks I still can hear, <br />Sounding distinct and near, <br />The Vandal monarch's cry, <br />As, captive and disgraced, <br />With majestic step he paced,-- <br />"All, all is Vanity!" <br /> <br />Ah! vainest of all things <br />Is the gratitude of kings; <br />The plaudits of the crowd <br />Are but the clatter of feet <br />At midnight in the street, <br />Hollow and restless and loud. <br /> <br />But the bitterest disgrace <br />Is to see forever the face <br />Of the Monk of Ephesus! <br />The unconquerable will <br />This, too, can bear;--I still <br />Am Belisarius!<br /><br />Henry Wadsworth Longfellow<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/belisarius/
