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...SCINTILLA by WILLIAM STANLEY BRAITHWAITE CACOETHES SCRIBENDI by OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES HENRY PURCELL by GERARD MANLEY HOPKINS THE SONG OF HIAWATHA: HIAWATHA'S WOOING by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW ODE FOR THE AMERICAN DEAD IN ASIA by THOMAS MCGRATH VILLANELLE, WITH STEVENSON'S ASSISTANCE by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS |