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[And as the glory of the still May moon]
And as the glory of the still May moon,
Gathering to fulness, soften'd the sweet night,
With English fames we lit the shadowy light,
Fames, like her brightness, to be greater soon,
But not, like that, to wane, but know a noon
Of perfect radiance in the future's sight—
Names that shall all the centuries delight,
Sweet to all coming ears as brooks in June.
Of Tennyson you told me; and the thought
That you had lived familiar in his home
Made you a wonder to me straight, and brought
More teeming fancies than your talk of Rome.
Then, too, my ear our Brownings' dear names caught,
Your friends in the shade of Peter's mighty dome.
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