O Who will leave sad care and go with me
To that enchanted land where Poets dwell
A glorious brotherhood in some far dell
Among the meads of golden Arcady!
There blind old Homer, lord of poesy,
And Virgil, his far son, hear Dante tell
Of that dread pilgrimage through Heaven and Hell.
There Chaucer joys in sunny minstrelsy,
And gentle Spenser floats in silver streams
Of phantasie; and ah, what raptures run
From Shakespeare’s lute that shames the
nightingale!
There Milton meditates celestial themes,
Keats paints his purple page, and Tennyson
Is singing Arthur and the Holy Grail.
(John Russell Hayes)
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