Destiny

By Emma Lazarus (1849–1887)

BORN to the purple, lying stark and dead,

Transfixed with poisoned spears, beneath the sun

Of brazen Africa! Thy grave is one,

Fore-fated youth (on whom were visited

Follies and sins not thine), whereat the world,

Heartless howe’er it be, will pause to sing

A dirge, to breathe a sigh, a wreath to fling

Of rosemary and rue with bay-leaves curled.

Enmeshed in toils ambitious, not thine own,

Immortal, loved boy-prince, thou tak’st thy stand

With early doomed Don Carlos, hand in hand

With mild-browed Arthur, Geoffrey’s murdered son.

Louis the Dauphin lifts his thorn-ringed head,

And welcomes thee, his brother, ’mongst the dead.