A Vision

Oscar Wilde

          TWO crownd Kings, and One that stood alone
            With no green weight of laurels round his head,
            But with sad eyes as one uncomforted,
          And wearied with man's never-ceasing moan
          For sins no bleating victim can atone,
            And sweet long lips with tears and kisses fed.
            Girt was he in a garment black and red,
          And at his feet I marked a broken stone
            Which sent up lilies, dove-like, to his knees.
            Now at their sight, my heart being lit with flame
          I cried to Beatric, "Who are these?"
          And she made answer, knowing well each name,
            "schylos first, the second Sophokles,
            And last (wide stream of tears!) Euripides."

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