Poems (Howard)/Ode to Tennyson
Ode to Tennyson.
My lord! the laurels thou dost wear By favor of a queen's command,Around our brow we would not dare To twine, nor from the royal handAccept emoluments that bear Thine ancient, honored peerage brand.
For Pegasus lends not his aid To us—so prodigal to thee That thou dost revel, undismayed, On pinnacles of poesy, Whose far-off strains thy name have made A synonym for mystery.
O prince of modern oracles! Why speakest thou, in occult lore, Inscrutable, deep parables, That we have pondered o'er and o'er, And owned, in lucid intervals, That never thus spake man before?
Great laureate! across the sea, A worshiper in foreign land, We lift our eyes admiringly, And offer our fraternal hand; Although thy freaks of fancy free, Alas! we do not understand.
But, since we cannot reach thy heights, Thou bard of rich experience! Nor feel the rapture that incites Thy marvelous magniloquence, Come down, from thy aërial flights, To unpretending, humble sense!
Write one delightful lyric, sung In language so direct and plain That it shall move our facile tongue To glibness it cannot restrain, And that shall linger long among The cherished treasures of our brain.
Descend to common folk, like us, Soar not above the brilliant sun, Be sympathizing, chivalrous, To those who have not glory won; Thou poet peer magnanimous, O dim, mysterious Tennyson!