A Vision

　A Vision

Two crowned 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 Beatrice， 'Who are these？'

And she made answer， knowing well each name，

'AEschylos first， the second Sophokles，

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