Explore "The Song of the Young Page" by Theodosia Pickrering Garrison on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
All that I know of love I see / In eyes that never look at me; / All that I know of love I guess / But from another's happiness.
A beggar at the window I, / Who, famished, looks on revelry; / A slave who lifts his torch to guide / The happy bridegroom to his bride.
My granddam told me once of one / Whom all her village spat upon, / Seeing the church from out its breast / Had cast him cursed and unconfessed.
An outcast he who dared not take / The wafer that God's vicars break, / But dull-eyed watched his neighbours pass / With shining faces from the Mass.
Oh thou, my brother, take my hand, / More than one God hath blessed and banned / And hidden from man's anguished glance / The glory of his countenance.
All that I know of love I see / In eyes that never look at me; / All that I know of love I guess / But from another's happiness.