Classic Poem

Thou hast a fair dominion here, Sir King!
And yon tall stone beneath the alder stem
Seems a meet throne for a gay crownéd thing,
That wears so well its tawny diadem.
Thou hast a fair dominion—pools and bays,
With heath and copse and nooks of plumy fern;
And tributes of sweet sound the river pays,
Changing to blythe or sad at every turn.
The gilded flies, when noon's faint zephyr stirs,
Upon the sunny shallows walk or swim;
And swallows too, those welcome foreigners,
Under thy bridges, summer tourists, skim,
Like the light crowd of English yearly thrown
On river-banks less lovely than their own.