Classic Poem

Interpreter of mighty moods and men,
Creator of a Hamlet so supreme,
Shakespeare's incarnate thought is born again
To shape us Life—the substance and the dream.
And yet thy very Hamlet falsifies
His own sad words. Imperious Cæsar's clay
May stop a hole, but Cæsar's will denies
The earth, the ages, and their brief decay.
The immemorial cycles count him great,
Just as forever from the wheel of Fame,
Each revolution shall but dedicate
Another spark to thy immortal name.
“The rest is silence.”—Words may not impart
The majesty and magic of thy art.