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Coventry Patmore - Alexander And Lycon
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‘What, no crown won,
              These two whole years,
              By man of fortitude beyond his peers,
              In Thrace or Macedon?’

              ‘No, none.
              But what deep trouble does my Lycon feel,
              And hide `neath chat about the commonweal?’

              ‘Glaucé but now the third time did again
              The thing which I forbade. I had to box her ears.
               `Twas ill to see her both blue eyes
               Settled in tears
               Despairing on the skies,
               And the poor lip all pucker`d into pain;
               Yet, for her sake, from kisses to refrain!’

               ‘Ho, Timocles, take down
               That crown.     
               No, not that common one for blood with extreme valour spilt,
               But yonder, with the berries gilt.
               `Tis, Lycon, thy just meed.
               To inflict unmoved
               And firm to bear the woes of the Beloved
               Is fortitude indeed.’
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