Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, ON A BIRTHDAY, by LEWIS MORRIS (1833-1907)


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

ON A BIRTHDAY, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: Fourscore long years, fourscore!
Last Line: What still it holds in store!
Subject(s): Birthdays; Bruce, Henry. Baron Aberdare (1815-1895)


FOURSCORE long years, fourscore!
Maiden and wife and mother, pure and white,
A blameless life lived in thy people's sight,
What would our longing more?

Fourscore blest years to-day,
Lived on a giddy height, yet not borne down
By the great burden of the Imperial crown,
In solitary sway.

All the long perilous years
That thou hast ruled, always thy people's Queen,
Loyal to Law and Freedom hast thou been
Through joy alike and tears.

Throned in thy nation's heart
The despot's crooked ways thou could'st not know;
To watch the broadening tide of freedom grow,
This was thy selfless part.

Always thy people's pain
Thy tender woman's heart with pity stirred;
Thy generous hand, thy gracious royal word,
Were never sought in vain.

Upon thy widowed throne,
Seated apart from all in lonely state,
Alone, thou didst confront thy regal fate,
Unaided and alone.

Nay! for thy royal heart
Thy people's love sustained; blest memories still
Of too brief happiness thy soul could fill
And nerve thee for thy part.

Sustained, supported still
In that deep solitude which hems the great;
A feeble hand to guide the helm of state,
But an Imperial will.

And ranged around thy throne
Children and children's children, puissant, strong,
His offspring even as thine, a sceptred throng;
Nay, thou wast not alone!

Of pageantries of state
Patient, the hills, the seas thou holdest dear,
A crowned Republican, simple, austere,
Contented to be great.

Oh, aged thin-drawn life,
Whose golden thread binds fast the world in peace,
Not yet, not yet, may thy worn forces cease
To bar the gates of strife!

Thy grandsire flung away
A people's loyal love thro' stubborn pride;
Re-knit to-day, the kinsmen side by side
Acclaim thy gentle sway.

No higher glory thine
Than this, the best achievement of thy life,
That sister peoples spurning hate and strife
For peace and love combine!

Fourscore such years, fourscore!
No greater gift than this high Heaven can send;
Front thou unfearing, Mother! Sovereign! Friend!
What still it holds in store!





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