When stark oblivion froze above their names Whose glory shone round Shakespeare's, bright as now, One eye beheld their light shine full as fame's, One hand unveiled it: this did none but thou. Love, stronger than forgetfulness and sleep, Rose, and bade memory rise, and England hear: And all the harvest left so long to reap Shone ripe and rich in every sheaf and ear. A child it was who first by grace of thine Communed with gods who share with thee their shrine: Elder than thou wast ever now I am, Now that I lay before thee in thanksgiving Praise of dead men divine and everliving Whose praise is thine as thine is theirs, Charles Lamb.…
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