November 26, 2016

It comes so easy to the great ones The Chrysostoms Those whom the ages reluctant to forget Create our specula

A mighty Marlowe, Spenser so mellifluous With matter too – something to say – that grit That Dylan had that made himself a platform

No washed up grubby laundries’ parley politics, But touch the nerve excite a mind to endeavours Scored, rebated, impressions ever-remembered Command of words

In the right hand is a bezel, or theodolite, Well-turned to workmanships ineffable; Sweet pungencies’ lost smells on dead olfactories No longer scenting, sedentary, tired,

Even the language used has to be used To follow in the way of old vocabulary As if the valour of an English tongue Foredone leaves English minds resigned of mentors

Inviting rather compeers commonplaces Opining monuments to competents, displacing fame; The flames of consternations raised that agitate To invigorate, inspirit, make aspire, departed;

Parts few achieve, all else trace only reaches Having not flight themselves that dares attempt Extravagant ascensions, whose returns celestial fruits; Will endure on Worthies’ rolls of adulation

Bringing tinder of desire aglance upon the sense Igniting teeming incandescent image-strings Of thought-device, elective on our drunken reason’s Admired perplexities

Thus we give place due honour and resign all title won From us; a fit and voluntary surrender Suffered in great concession-wrought esteem; Enchantment’s fascinations heap the restitutions

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