Classic Poem

Here, in thy choice old city, do I dwell
At thy dread feet, most honored Clarendon!
Catching the precious words, that one by one
Fall from thy lips; because I love full well
Thy good and stately sadness: and I prize,
As warnings for this land, the auguries
Wherewith, like fatal seeds, thy pages swell.
From these hot thoughts and tears full oft I fly
To the gay Froissart, and those wondrous men
Who dreamed of honor, and had heart to die
For their own brave and glorious dream; and then,
Albeit with childish lingerings, again
I turn to graver books, where by my side
Lies Origen, my dear and perilous guide.