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