Most tuneful singer, lover tenderest,
Most sad, most piteous, and most musical,
Thine is the shrine more pilgrim-worn than
The shrines of singers; high above the
Thy trumpet sounds most loud, most manifest.
Yet better were it if a lonely
Of woodland birds, a song, a madrigal,
Were all the jetsam of thy sea's unrest.
For now thy praises have become too
On vulgar lips, and every yelping
Yaps thee a paean ; the whiles little men,
Not tall enough to worship in a crowd,
Spit their small wits at thee.
Ah ! better
The broken shrine, the lonely worshipper.
Taken from the New Adelphi Library edition of 'Selected Poems' by Lord Arthur Douglas Published by Martin Secker
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