When friends grown faithless, or the fickle throng, <br />Withdrawing from my life the love they lent, <br />Breed in my heart disdainful discontent, <br />And sadden sunshine with a sense of wrong, <br />Then I, forgetting to be wise and strong, <br />And on my own endearment too intent, <br />Unto myself make musical lament, <br />And lullaby my pain with plaintive song. <br />But, when I gaze upon this face august, <br />Her gift, who, seated on earth's loftiest throne, <br />For others' weal holds half the world in trust, <br />Pondering on cares of Empire all alone, <br />I, then rebuked, remember to be just, <br />Think of her griefs, and quite forget my own.<br /><br />Alfred Austin<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-portrait-8/
