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CLOUDS here and there arisen an hour past noon Chequered our English heaven with lengthening bars And shadow and sound of wheel-winged thunder-cars Assembling strength to put forth tempest soon, When the clear still warm concord of thy tune Rose under skies unscared by reddening Mars Yet, like a sound of silver speech of stars, With full mild flame as of the mellowing moon. Grave and great-hearted Massinger, thy face High melancholy lights with loftier grace Than gilds the brows of revel: sad and wise, The spirit of thought that moved thy deeper song, Sorrow serene in soft calm scorn of wrong, Speaks patience yet from thy majestic eyes. |