THIS is a Christmas carol -- A late one, it is true, -- But (dight in Truth's apparel) The best that we can do: -- The best our Muse belated Thus offers, antedated, -- E'en as the old waits waited We, waiting, sing for you. So, haply, you may listen, As 'twere, with Fancy's ear, And shape such songs of this-un As were worth worlds to hear, -- Such anthemings ecstatic As scaled The Mermaid's attic In midnight's aromatic Of choicest Christmas cheer: Such songs as Marlowe lifted, With throstle-throated Will And rare Ben, as they shifted Their laughing voices till The mirth, with music blended, So oversweet ascended, It well were never ended -- And, hark! -- you hear it still! . . . You hear it; aye, and love it! -- Beyond all voices dear -- Your master's! -- none above it. -- So harken, and so hear! -- Your master's English. -- Surely No other rests so purely On Fame, or more securely, -- O English of Shakespeare! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...AND THE GREATEST OF THESE IS WAR by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON VENUS IN A GARDEN by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON THE LOST LEADER by ROBERT BROWNING MOZART'S REQUIEM by FELICIA DOROTHEA HEMANS SAINT BRANDAN by MATTHEW ARNOLD LILIES OF WHITE by UNNUR BENEDIKTDOTTIR THE SIGHING TIME by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN HINC LACHRIMAE; OR THE AUTHOR TO AURORA: 42 by WILLIAM BOSWORTH |