AT STRATFORD

I could not sleep. The wind poured in my ear

Immortal names — Lear, Hamlet, Hal, Macbeth,

And thro the night I heard the rushing breath

Of ghost and witch and fool go whirling by.

I followed them, under the phantom sphere

Of the pale moon, along the Avon's near

And nimbused flowing, followed to his bier —

Who had evoked them first with mighty eye.

And as I gazed upon the peaceful spire

That points above earth's most immortal dust,

I could have asked God for His starry Lyre

Out of the skies to play my praise upon.

I could have shouted, as, O Wind, thou must,

“Here lies Humanity: kneel, and pass on.”