Poem September 5, 1908 Issue

ON A FLY-LEAF OF SHAKESPEARE

HON. CLARENCE A. BUSKIRK.

Were there no other proofs for us to see,
O mighty Bard, thou and they like to thee,
Like th' rainbow proves the sunlight, prove to me
The stature of man's immortality.

What rare bee-bread was that which Shakespeare's lips

Fed on, and whose Olympic nectar drips
Forever on his page!
Surpassing sweets the fancies gathered then,
To run in honied raptures from his pen,
Such sweets as fancy gathers not again
For poet, wit, or sage.

Often his kindling sentence starts a flame
Of swift delight, and thoughts which erst were tame
And torpid in our hearts,
Leap into iridescence; oft a word
Comes to us like the wood-notes of a bird,
And hints supernal music never heard,
That nevermore departs.