On a Boy's First Reading of "King Henry V"

When youth was lord of my unchallenged fate, And time seemed but the vassal of my will, I entertainëd certain guests of state— The great of older days, who, faithful still, Have kept with me the pact my youth had made. And I remember how one galleon rare From the far distance of a time long dead Came on the wings of a fair-fortuned air, With sound of martial music heralded, In blazonry of storied shields arrayed. So the Great Harry with high trumpetings, The wind of victory in her burly sails! And all her deck with clang of armor rings: And under-flown the Lily standard trails, And over-flown the royal Lions ramp. The waves she rode are strewn with silent wrecks, Her proud sea-comrades once; but ever yet Comes time-defying laughter from her decks, Where stands the lion-lord Plantagenet, Large-hearted, merry, king of court and camp. Sail on! sail on! The fatal blasts of time That spared so few, shall thee with joy escort; And with the stormy thunder of thy rhyme Shalt thou salute full many a centuried port With “Ho! for Harry and red Agin-court!”

Collection: 

More from Poet

Four straight brick walls, severely plain, A quiet city square surround; A level space of nameless graves,— The Quakers’ burial-ground. In gown of gray, or coat of drab, They trod the common ways of life, With passions held in sternest leash, And hearts that knew not strife. To yon grim...

Good master, you and I were born In “Teacup days” of hoop and hood, And when the silver cue hung down, And toasts were drunk, and wine was good; When kin of mine (a jolly brood) From sideboards looked, and knew full well What courage they had given the beau, How generous made the blushing belle...

There is no dearer lover of lost hours Than I. I can be idler than the idlest flowers; More idly lie Than noonday lilies languidly afloat, And water pillowed in a windless moat. And I can be Stiller than some gray stone That hath no motion known. It seems to me That...

Four straight brick walls, severely plain, A quiet city square surround; A level space of nameless graves,— The Quakers’ burial-ground. In gown of gray, or coat of drab, They trod the common ways of life, With passions held in sternest leash, And hearts that knew not strife. To yon grim...

Death ’s but one more to-morrow. Thou art gray With many a death of many a yesterday. O yearning heart that lacked the athlete’s force And, stumbling, fell upon the beaten course, And looked, and saw with ever glazing eyes Some lower soul that seemed to win the prize! Lo, Death, the just, who...