PHILIP MASSINGER

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.