TO ONE IN A HIGH POSITION <br />To you, a poet, glorious, heaven--born, <br />One who is not a poet but a son <br />Of the earth earthy, sick and travel--worn <br />And weary with a race already run, <br />A battle lost e'er yet his day is done, <br />Comes with this tribute, shattered banners torn <br />From a defeat. You reign in Macedon, <br />My Alexander, as at earlier morn <br />You reigned upon Parnassus, hero, king. <br />I reign no more, not even in those hearts <br />For which these songs were made, and if I sing <br />'Tis with a harsh and melancholy note <br />At which my own heart like an echo starts. <br />Yet sometimes I can deem you listening, <br />And then all else is instantly forgot.<br /><br />Wilfrid Scawen Blunt<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-love-sonnets-of-proteus-i/
