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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