Hail, happy genius of this ancient pile! How comes it all things so about thee smile? The fire, the wine, the men! And in the midst, Thou stand'st as if some mystery thou didst! Pardon, I read it in thy face, the day For whose returns, and many, all these pray: And so do I. This is the sixtieth year Since Bacon, and thy lord was born, and here; Son to the grave wise Keeper of the Seal, Fame, and foundation of the English weal. What then his father was, that since is he, Now with a title more to the degree; England's high Chancellor: the destined heir In his soft cradle to his father's chair, Whose even thread the Fates spin round and full, Out of their choicest, and their whitest wool. 'Tis a brave cause of joy, let it be known, For 'twere a narrow gladness, kept thine own. Give me a deep-crowned bowl, that I may sing In raising him the wisdom of my king. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SONNET: OF THREE GIRLS AND OF THEIR TALK by GIOVANNI BOCCACCIO TO MY DEAR AND LOVING HUSBAND by ANNE BRADSTREET THE WANDERER: 2. IN FRANCE: THE PORTRAIT by EDWARD ROBERT BULWER-LYTTON THE VANISHING RED by ROBERT FROST THE DESERTED HOUSE by ALFRED TENNYSON ODES: BOOK 2: ODE 3. TO THE CUCKOO by MARK AKENSIDE THE LOVE SONNETS OF PROTEUS: 24, ASKING FOR HER HEART (2) by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT |