Nor let that be forgot,

The testament of stateliest worth

He left us when he fled the earth.

The mausoleum made of rhyme,

Fair in its unfrequented field,

Which shall invulnerably shield

His memory to the end of Time;

The house with curtain-flaming halls

And roof of gold and jewelled walls

For which the fisher sank his net

Into the deepest pools of speech,

Scooping rich conchs and ribbons wet

That a less venturous could not reach,

The hunter tracked the metaphor

On many a foamy silver coast

A hundred leagues beyond the most

Fabulous Tellurian shore.

Magnificent he was and mild,

Glad to be still and glad to speak,

Daring yet delicate as a child,

 Prev. P 29/50 next