TO ONE IN A HIGH POSITION br To you, a poet, glorious, heaven--born, br One who is not a poet but a son br Of the earth earthy, sick and travel--worn br And weary with a race already run, br A battle lost e'er yet his day is done, br Comes with this tribute, shattered banners torn br From a defeat. You reign in Macedon, br My Alexander, as at earlier morn br You reigned upon Parnassus, hero, king. br I reign no more, not even in those hearts br For which these songs were made, and if I sing br 'Tis with a harsh and melancholy note br At which my own heart like an echo starts. br Yet sometimes I can deem you listening, br And then all else is instantly forgot.