St. Peter-ad-Vincula
TOO well I know, pacing the place of awe,Three queens, young save in trouble, moulder by;More in his halo, Monmouth’s mocking eye,The eagle Essex in a harpy’s claw;Seymour and Dudley, and stout heads that sawSundown of Scotland: how with treasons lieWhite martyrdoms; rank in a companyBreaker and builder of the eternal law.Oft as I come, the hateful garden-rowOf ruined roses hanging from the stem,Where winds of old defeat yet batter them,Infects me: suddenly must I depart,Ere thought of men’s injustice then and nowAdd to these aisles one other broken heart.
TOO well I know, pacing the place of awe,Three queens, young save in trouble, moulder by;More in his halo, Monmouth’s mocking eye,The eagle Essex in a harpy’s claw;Seymour and Dudley, and stout heads that sawSundown of Scotland: how with treasons lieWhite martyrdoms; rank in a companyBreaker and builder of the eternal law.Oft as I come, the hateful garden-rowOf ruined roses hanging from the stem,Where winds of old defeat yet batter them,Infects me: suddenly must I depart,Ere thought of men’s injustice then and nowAdd to these aisles one other broken heart.
TOO well I know, pacing the place of awe,Three queens, young save in trouble, moulder by;More in his halo, Monmouth’s mocking eye,The eagle Essex in a harpy’s claw;Seymour and Dudley, and stout heads that sawSundown of Scotland: how with treasons lieWhite martyrdoms; rank in a companyBreaker and builder of the eternal law.
TOO well I know, pacing the place of awe,
Three queens, young save in trouble, moulder by;
More in his halo, Monmouth’s mocking eye,
The eagle Essex in a harpy’s claw;
Seymour and Dudley, and stout heads that saw
Sundown of Scotland: how with treasons lie
White martyrdoms; rank in a company
Breaker and builder of the eternal law.
Oft as I come, the hateful garden-rowOf ruined roses hanging from the stem,Where winds of old defeat yet batter them,Infects me: suddenly must I depart,Ere thought of men’s injustice then and nowAdd to these aisles one other broken heart.
Oft as I come, the hateful garden-row
Of ruined roses hanging from the stem,
Where winds of old defeat yet batter them,
Infects me: suddenly must I depart,
Ere thought of men’s injustice then and now
Add to these aisles one other broken heart.