O GENTLER Censor of our age! Prime master of our ampler tongue! Whose word of wit and generous page Were never wroth except with Wrong. Fielding -- without the manners dross, Scott -- with a spirit's larger room, What Prelate deems thy grave his loss? What Halifax erects thy tomb? But, may be, He -- who could so draw The hidden Great, the humble Wise -- Yielding with them to God's good law, Makes the Pantheon where he lies. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...GEIST'S GRAVE by MATTHEW ARNOLD TO A WATERFOWL by WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT MADRIGAL: 1 by WILLIAM DRUMMOND OF HAWTHORNDEN FLORAL DECORATIONS FOR BANANAS by WALLACE STEVENS APRIL - AND DYING by ANNE REEVE ALDRICH THE WANDERER: 3. IN ENGLAND: THE ALOE by EDWARD ROBERT BULWER-LYTTON |