Classic Poem

My Lady, had I but the Heaven-sent grace
Of rhythmic speech to match my great intent,
This verse of mine should grow more eloquent
Than his who charmed the ancient rocks of Thrace.

Higher than Horace's or Pindar's place
I'd hang a wreath for thee, so excellent,
A book so wrought of noble sentiment,
That Du Bellay would straightway yield the race!

Nay, even Laura's song-ennobled name,
With glory by the listening ages crowned,
Lives in the Tuscan verse less world-renowned

Than thine, whose praise, for pledge of France's fame,
Should conquer empires, peoples, kings, and Time,
And outsoar Death itself on wings of rhyme!