Poems (Howard)/Ode to Tennyson

by Hattie Howard

Ode to Tennyson.

My lord! the laurels thou dost wear
 By favor of a queen's command,
Around our brow we would not dare
 To twine, nor from the royal hand
Accept emoluments that bear
 Thine ancient, honored peerage brand.

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.

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?

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.

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!

Write one delightful lyric, sung
 In language so direct and plain
That it shall move our facile tongue
 To glibness it cannot restrain,
And that shall linger long among
 The cherished treasures of our brain.

Descend to common folk, like us,
 Soar not above the brilliant sun,
Be sympathizing, chivalrous,
 To those who have not glory won;
Thou poet peer magnanimous,
 O dim, mysterious Tennyson!