April, 1564: April, 1616

April, 1564—April, 1616

Immortal Bard, who sleeps by Avon stream

And Stratford meadows bright with English flowers,

In wonder-love a world of thee doth dream,

This April month, with rainbows on the showers.

The thoughts of men are sent across the seas

To where thy birthland greens 'neath weeping skies,

To that gray church amid the budding trees,Wherein the dust of Engand's poet lies.

Above the yews, they see the ancient spire

Beyond that house wherein ye first drew breath,

They learn all human passions from thy lyre,

And speak thy fame which triumphs over death.

With this day's sun three centuries are goneSince first the infant bard looked on the prime,

And April closed the eyes of Avon's Swan

Whose voice shall reach the farthest gulfs of time.

O in this hour, Great Bard, all honor thee,

Thou who did'st sing a listening world to teach;

The nations' poets bend once more the knee,Exalt thy station with their diverse speech.

BIRTHPLACE OF SHAKESPEARE

SHAKESPEARE MEMORIAL—THE CHURCH IN THE DISTANCE

And countless thousands greet thy day of birth—Day set by fate to lead to death's dim strand—

One thought this time makes kin of all the earth,To find a centre in thy native land.

The creatures of thy brain before us pass,

From thine our realm of laughter and of tears;

While ever fall the sands, within time's glass,The past shall give them to the future years.

Hail, then, "Sweet Shakespeare" on this natal day!

All hail to thee, vast intellect of art!Hail thee, this time which claimed thy mortal clay,

All hail thee, master of the human heart!

Immortal Bard, whose triumph is for all,Whose genius sheds a glory on the race;

The poet of the cottage and the hall,

One whose vast thought nor fails in time nor place!

The laural wreath is on the poet's head,To dust the poet's body nature brings;

The wreath for Shakespeare, Shakespeare lying dead,And sacred far beyond the dust of kings!

The wreath to Shakespeare in supernal light,The love of all the nations gives it now;

To world-loved Shakespeare standing on the height,The light divine upon the deathless brow!

All tongues unite to make the one acclaim,

From shore to shore, from land to land, it runs:

The years but add new lustre to his name—Lo! Avon's Bard is bright among the suns!

—Alfred Lambourne