"O Richard, O mon roi." So minstrels sighed. The many-centuried voice dies fast away Amidst the turmoil of our modern day. How know we but these green-wreathed legends hide An ugly truth that never could abide In this our living world's far purer air? -- Nevertheless, O statue, rest thou there, Our Richard, of all chivalry the pride; Or if not the true Richard, still a type Of the old regal glory, fallen, o'er-ripe, And giving place to better blossoming: Stand -- imaging the grand heroic days; And let our little children come and gaze, Whispering with innocent awe -- "This was a King." | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE BISHOP ORDERS HIS TOMB AT SAINT PRAXED'S CHURCH by ROBERT BROWNING FOR A' THAT AND A' THAT; SONG by ROBERT BURNS A PRAISE OF HIS LADY by JOHN HEYWOOD THE GRASS STEALERS by J. MURRAY ALLISON BOX-CAR LETTERS by KARLE WILSON BAKER SONNETS OF MANHOOD: 32. 'LO! ONE CALLS' by GEORGE BARLOW (1847-1913) GHOSTS by ROBERT SEYMOUR BRIDGES A CURSE FOR A NATION: THE CURSE by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING |