Explore "The Welcome" by Gilbert Parker on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
But see: my lady comes. I hear her feet / Upon the sward; she standeth by my side.
Just such a face Raphael had deified, / If in his day they two had chanced to meet.
And I, tossed by the tide of circumstance, / Lifting weak hands against a host of swords, / Paused suddenly to hear her gentle words / Making powerless the lightnings of mischance.
I, who was but a maker of poor songs, / That one might sing behind his prison bars, / I, who it seemed fate singled out for wrongs --
She smiled on me as smile the nearest stars.
From her deep soul I draw my peace, and thus, / One wreath of rhyme I weave for both of us.