There is delight in singing, though none hear
Beside the singer; and there is delight
In praising, tho' the praiser sit alone
And see the praised far off him, far above.
Shakspere is not our poet, but the world's,
Therefore on him no speech! and brief for
thee,

Browning! Since Chaucer was alive and hale,

No man hath walked along our roads with step

So active, so inquiring eye, or tongue

So varied in discourse. But warmer climes Give brighter plumage, stronger wing: the

MEMORY AND PRIDE

(1837)

'Do you remember me? or are you proud?' Lightly advancing through her star-trimmed crowd,

Ianthe said, and looked into my eyes. 'A yes, a yes, to both: for Memory Where you but once have been must ever

be,

And at your voice Pride from his throne

must rise.'

(1846)

ON TIMELY DEATH