The Patriot by RobertBrowning It was roses, roses, all the way, With myrtle mixed in my path like mad: The house-roofs seemed to heave and sway, The church-spires flamed, such flags they had, A year ago on this very day. The air broke into a mist with bells, The old walls rocked with the crowd and cries. Had I said, ``Good folk, mere noise repels--- But give me your sun from yonder skies! They had answered, ``And afterward, what else? Alack, it was I who leaped at the sun To give it my loving friends to keep! Nought man could do, have I left undone: And you see my harvest, what I reap This very day, now a year is run. Theres nobody on the house-tops now--- Just a palsied few at the windows set; For the best of the sight is, all allow, At the Shambles Gate---or, better yet, By the very scaffolds foot, I trow. I go in the rain, and, more than needs, A rope cuts both my wrists behind; And I think, by the feel, my forehead bleeds, For they fling, whoever has a mind, Stones at me for my years misdeeds. Thus I entered, and thus I go! In triumphs, people have dropped down dead. ``Paid by the world, what dost thou owe ``Me?---God might question; now instead, Tis God shall repay: I am safer so.
Posted on: Sat, 17 May 2014 01:11:22 +0000
Trending Topics
Recently Viewed Topics
© 2015