ODE TO TENNYSON.
79
For Pegasus lends not his aid
To us—so prodigal to thee
That thou dost revel, undismayed,
On pinnacles of poesy,
Whose far-off strains thy name have made
A synonym for mystery.
To us—so prodigal to thee
That thou dost revel, undismayed,
On pinnacles of poesy,
Whose far-off strains thy name have made
A synonym for mystery.
O prince of modern oracles!
Why speakest thou, in occult lore,
Inscrutable, deep parables,
That we have pondered o'er and o'er,
And owned, in lucid intervals,
That never thus spake man before?
Why speakest thou, in occult lore,
Inscrutable, deep parables,
That we have pondered o'er and o'er,
And owned, in lucid intervals,
That never thus spake man before?
Great laureate! across the sea,
A worshiper in foreign land,
We lift our eyes admiringly,
And offer our fraternal hand;
Although thy freaks of fancy free,
Alas! we do not understand.
A worshiper in foreign land,
We lift our eyes admiringly,
And offer our fraternal hand;
Although thy freaks of fancy free,
Alas! we do not understand.
But, since we cannot reach thy heights,
Thou bard of rich experience!
Nor feel the rapture that incites
Thy marvelous magniloquence,
Come down, from thy aërial flights,
To unpretending, humble sense!
Thou bard of rich experience!
Nor feel the rapture that incites
Thy marvelous magniloquence,
Come down, from thy aërial flights,
To unpretending, humble sense!
