The House Of Wisdom

I had not thought (ah, God! had I but known!) That this sad hour should ever me befall, When thou I judged the holiest of all Should come to be the thing I must disown. Was it not true? that April morn? thy blown Gold hair around my hair for coronal? Or is this truer?--thou at the outer wall, Unroyal, and with unrepentant moan? Yet prize I now this wisdom I have won, Who must always remember? Nay! My tears Must close mine eyes--as thou wouldst hide thy face If some great meteor, kindred to the sun, Should haunt the undying stars ten million years To fall, some noon, dead in thy market place.