WHERE ARE THEY?

WHAT has become of the cast-off coats

That covered Will Shakespeare’ s back?

What has become of the old row-boats

Of Kidd and his pirate pack?

Where are the scarfs that Lord Byron wore?

Where are poor Shelley’ s cuffs?

What has become of that wondrous store

Of Queen Elizabeth’ s ruffs?

I do not search for the ships of Tyre —

The grave of Whittington’ s cat

Would sooner set my spirit on fire —

Or even Beau Brummel’ s hat.

And when I reflect that there are spots

In the world that I can’ t find,

Where lie these same identical lots,

And many of this same kind,

I’ m tempted to give a store of gold

To him that will bring to me

A glass, Earth’ s mysteries to unfold,

And show me where these things be.