Poems (Howard)/Gratitude
For works with similar titles, see Gratitude.
Gratitude.
O could I dip my barbarous quill In fountains of cerulean ink, And catch the merry, mellow trill Of robin red or bobolink, I'd frame, in tuneful, tinkling phrase, For him of bounteous works and ways Who well deserves this meed of praise, The sweetest of all lyric lays!
If I could call the angels down, And from their own bright jewels cull A star to glisten in his crown— With sparkling gems already full—'T would faintly show my gratitude To one whose gracious deference stood As recompense for conduct rude From grosser natures interviewed.
If I, so notable, could weave A shining robe, like silver lawn, On some ambrosial, amber eve I'd beg of him to put it on; That its enchanting folds might gleam Before his dazzled eyes, and seem Symbolical of true esteem For him of whom I dare to dream.
O could I claim the monarch's right, That of creating lords—of men—With royal favor I 'd requite His generosity; and then Proclaim, as if in trumpet-tone, That every courtier round the throne Should do him honor, who hath grown Into my heart, from kindness shown!