SHAKESPEARE
(April 23, 1664-1889)
Nay, Master, dare we speak? O mighty shade,
Sitting enthroned where awful splendors are,
Beyond the light of sun, or moon, or star,
How shall we breathe thy high name undismayed?
Poet, in royal majesty arrayed,
Walking with mute gods through the realms afar—
Seer, whose wide vision time nor death can bar,
We would but kiss thy feet, abashed, afraid!
But yet we love thee, and great love is bold.
Love, O our master, with his heart of flame
And eye of fire, dares even to look on thee,
For whom the ages lift their gates of gold;
And his glad tongue shall syllable thy name
Till time is lost in God's unsounded sea!
Sitting enthroned where awful splendors are,
Beyond the light of sun, or moon, or star,
How shall we breathe thy high name undismayed?
Poet, in royal majesty arrayed,
Walking with mute gods through the realms afar—
Seer, whose wide vision time nor death can bar,
We would but kiss thy feet, abashed, afraid!
But yet we love thee, and great love is bold.
Love, O our master, with his heart of flame
And eye of fire, dares even to look on thee,
For whom the ages lift their gates of gold;
And his glad tongue shall syllable thy name
Till time is lost in God's unsounded sea!
