His brows were circled by a wreath of bays, The symbol of the bard's well-earned renown -- Upon his head more regal than the crown Of kings. For he by his immortal lays Is King among the poets of these days. And far and wide where'er our mother-tongue Is known, his winged lines are read and sung In crowded cities and in green by-ways. What could his country give that he had not? Fame, wealth, love's best companionship he had. And, blown across the seas, no lonely spot Of our far West but felt the effluence glad Borne to our hearts as from ethereal fire In the rich music of his English lyre. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...HYMN TO GOD MY GOD, IN MY SICKNESS by JOHN DONNE TACKING SHIP OFF SHORE by WALTER MITCHELL OH! BLAME NOT THE BARD by THOMAS MOORE AN OLD SWEETHEART [OF MINE] by JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY THE ADIEU, TO A FRIEND LEAVING SUFFOLK by BERNARD BARTON ASOLANDO: ARCADES AMBO by ROBERT BROWNING ABSENT YET PRESENT by EDWARD GEORGE EARLE LYTTON BULWER-LYTTON |