A Vision

　A Vision

　　Two crowned Kings， and One that stood alone

　　With no green weight of laurels¹ round his head，

　　But with sad eyes as one uncomforted，

　　And wearied with man's never-ceasing moan

　　For sins no bleating² victim can atone³，

　　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 Beatrice， 'Who are these？'

　　And she made answer， knowing well each name，

　　'AEschylos first， the second Sophokles，

　　And last （wide stream of tears！） Euripides.'