To H. B. Irving

All, that he came to give, He gave, and went again: I have seen one man live, I have seen one man reign, With all the graces in his train.

As one of us, he wrought Things of the common hour: Whence was the charmed soul brought, That gave each act such power; The natural beauty of a flower?

Magnificence and grace, Excellent courtesy: A brightness on the face, Airs of high memory: Whence came all these, to such as he?

Like young Shakespearian kings, He won the adoring throng: And, as Apollo sings, He triumphed with a song: Triumphed, and sang, and passed along.

With a light word, he took The hearts of men in thrall: And, with a golden look, Welcomed them, at his call Giving their love, their strength, their all.

No man less proud than he, Nor cared for homage less: Only, he could not be Far off from happiness: Nature was bound to his success.

Weary, the cares, the jars, The lets, of every day: But the heavens filled with stars, Chanced he upon the way: And where he stayed, all joy would stay.

Now, when sad night draws down, When the austere stars burn: Roaming the vast live town, My thoughts and memories yearn Toward him, who never will return.

Yet have I seen him live, And owned my friend, a king: All that he came to give, He gave: and I, who sing His praise, bring all I have to bring.