Great jewels glitter like a wizard's rain
Of pearl and ruby in the women's hair.
And all the men — each drags a golden chain,
As though he walked in freedom. In the glare,
Luxurious-cushioned wheels a revel-train
Where kings of song with weary feet have trod,
Where Poe, sad priest to Beauty and to Pain,
Bore through the night the Vision and the God.

And yet, perhaps, in this assemblage vast,
In some poor heart sounds the enraptured chord,
And staggering homeward from a hopeless quest
The God-anointed touched me, meanly dressed,
And, like a second Peter, I have passed
Without salute the vessel of the Lord.