I

Love and praise, and a length of days whose shadow cast upon time is light, Days whose sound was a spell shed round from wheeling wings as of doves in flight, Meet in one, that the mounting sun to-day may triumph, and cast out night.

Two years more than the full fourscore lay hallowing hands on a sacred head-- Scarce one score of the perfect four uncrowned of fame as they smiled and fled: Still and soft and alive aloft their sunlight stays though the suns be dead.

Ere we were or were thought on, ere the love that gave us to life began, Fame grew strong with his crescent song, to greet the goal of the race they ran, Song with fame, and the lustrous name with years whose changes acclaimed the man.