 | The Finding of The Book and Other Poems |  |
294
COWLEY'S POEMS
22
Thee, far-off poet near the first of all
Thee, far-off poet near the first of all,
Fain would I give the best I have to give.
Little thou hast of false or fugitive,
Though they misname thee metaphysical.
Our glorious Tennyson to rise and fall
Of thy Pindaric greatly did arrive,
Listen'd fastidiously, and bade it live,
Ancient and modern mated to enthrall.
Nor only war and state were for thy lyre.
Thou sawest on the brow of science drawn
The passionate look whereto thy peers were blind.
Thine was the genuine Idean fire,
The anticipation dark yet disciplined,
Prophetic, hailing heralds of the dawn.
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