  When Shakespeare soared from life to death, above All praise, all adoration, save of love, As here on earth above all men he stood That were or are or shall be—great, and good, Past thank or thought of England or of man— Light from the sunset quickened as it ran. His word, who sang as never man may sing And spake as never voice of man may ring, Not fruitless fell, as seed on sterile ways, But brought forth increase even to Shakespeare's praise. Our skies were thrilled and filled, from sea to sea, With stars outshining all their suns to be. No later light of tragic song they knew Like his whose lightning clove the sunset through. Half Shakespeare's glory, when his hand sublime Bade all the change of tragic life and time Live, and outlive all date of quick and dead, Fell, rested, and shall rest on Webster's head. Round him the shadows cast on earth by light Rose, changed, and shone, transfiguring death and night. Where evil only crawled and hissed and slew On ways where nought save shame and bloodshed grew, And love, when stricken through the heart, forgive. Deep down the midnight of the soul of sin He lit the star of mercy throned therein. High up the darkness of sublime despair He set the sun of love to triumph there. Things foul or frail his touch made strong and pure, And bade things transient like to stars endure. Terror, on wings whose flight made night in heaven, Pity, with hands whence life took love for leaven, Breathed round him music whence his mortal breath Drew life that bade forgetfulness and death Die: life that bids his light of fiery fame Endure with England's, yea, with Shakespeare's name. |
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