 | The Vale of Arden and Other Poems |  |
39
OUR SHAKESPEARE
To-night, where'er men boast thy native tongue,They crown thy brows anew with solemn bays,
The cup in silence to thy memory raise,
Imperial master of the feast of song—
In seemly silence—for what voice so strong,
So sweet, as duly to declare thy praise?
But we, who dwell where Arden yet arrays
The oaks thou knew'st in green, where glides along
Gray Avon's peace, by many a gentle bend,
Through homely pastures, and the bees still sip
The flowers that heard thy footsteps—we may blend
Our homage with a sense of fellowship,
May mark a kindlier smile illume thy lip,
And feel thee less our sovereign than our friend.
| The Vale of Arden and Other Poems | |