TO EUGENE FIELD IN ENGLAND.
GOOD poet of the city by the lake,Critic and satirist I wave a handAnd send this greeting over sea and land—That kindest spirits round you tend, and makeYour ready feet to walk in Chaucer’s wake,And in the paths of Keats and Shelley stand;Or where the master of all singers plannedHis songs, may your heart inspiration take.Where Dobson’s flowers find root in “paven ground,”And Andrew Lang and Walter Pater bide,I know that there for you a joy is found.Cease not your western Pegasus to ride,And when old book plates and rare volumes bore,Quit London’s fog and dwell with us once more.
GOOD poet of the city by the lake,Critic and satirist I wave a handAnd send this greeting over sea and land—That kindest spirits round you tend, and makeYour ready feet to walk in Chaucer’s wake,And in the paths of Keats and Shelley stand;Or where the master of all singers plannedHis songs, may your heart inspiration take.Where Dobson’s flowers find root in “paven ground,”And Andrew Lang and Walter Pater bide,I know that there for you a joy is found.Cease not your western Pegasus to ride,And when old book plates and rare volumes bore,Quit London’s fog and dwell with us once more.
GOOD poet of the city by the lake,Critic and satirist I wave a handAnd send this greeting over sea and land—That kindest spirits round you tend, and makeYour ready feet to walk in Chaucer’s wake,And in the paths of Keats and Shelley stand;Or where the master of all singers plannedHis songs, may your heart inspiration take.
GOOD poet of the city by the lake,
Critic and satirist I wave a hand
And send this greeting over sea and land—
That kindest spirits round you tend, and make
Your ready feet to walk in Chaucer’s wake,
And in the paths of Keats and Shelley stand;
Or where the master of all singers planned
His songs, may your heart inspiration take.
Where Dobson’s flowers find root in “paven ground,”And Andrew Lang and Walter Pater bide,I know that there for you a joy is found.Cease not your western Pegasus to ride,And when old book plates and rare volumes bore,Quit London’s fog and dwell with us once more.
Where Dobson’s flowers find root in “paven ground,”
And Andrew Lang and Walter Pater bide,
I know that there for you a joy is found.
Cease not your western Pegasus to ride,
And when old book plates and rare volumes bore,
Quit London’s fog and dwell with us once more.