One crown that no one seeks
And yet the highest head
Its isolation coveted
Its stigma deified
While Pontius Pilate lives
In whatsoever hell
That coronation pierces him
He recollects it well.
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Who is it seeks my Pillow Nights —
With plain inspecting face —
"Did you" or "Did you not," to ask —
'Tis "Conscience" — Childhood's Nurse —
With Martial Hand she strokes the Hair
Upon my wincing Head —
"All" Rogues "shall have their part in" what —
The Phosphorous of God —