TO ONE IN PRISON

By James Henry Cousins

Dear! on Love's altar thou hast laid thee down,

Priestess and Victim of such Sacrifice

As might melt praise from very hearts of ice,

But wins the scoff of sycophant and clown.

Yet in that band, whose glory is the frown

Of sceptred tyranny and stained device,

Thou hast a place; and thee it shall suffice

To tread with them the path to high renown.

And I — even I, unworthy though I be —

For these my wounds of utter loneliness,

Tired head and sleepless eyes, some part would claim

In the deep rubric of thy mystery;

So may I, in proud years that rise to bless,

Stand in the shadow of thine honoured name.