 | The Poems of Sir William Watson |  |
26
TO AN AMERICAN POET
Take, Poet, take these thanks too long deferred—You that have made me richer year by year,
Across the vast and desert waters drear
Wafting your marriage-chimes of thought and word,
Your true-born, truthful songs. Not April bird
Utters abroad his wisdom morning-clear
From fuller heart. Still sing with note sincere,
And English pure as English air hath heard.
And so, though all the fops of style misuse
Our great brave language—tricking out with beads
This noble vesture that no frippery needs—
Help still to save, while Time around him strews
Old shards of empire, and much dust of creeds,
The honour and the glory of the muse.
1907
| The Poems of Sir William Watson | |