Fugitive Poetry. 1600–1878/Shakspeare

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Shakspeare.
Centuries have rolled on centuries, years on years,
 The never-ceasing progress of decay
 Has swept the mighty and the mean away,
Monarchs and multitudes! but there appears,
 Towering above all tempests and all time,
 A pyramid more glorious and sublime
Than those the imperishable Memphis rears
Over her sandy wilderness; for theirs
 Are but unspeaking stones, where lies enshrined
Eternal silence. But peerless Shakspeare
 Pours forth still from his exhaustless stores of mind
All truth—all passion—and all poetry;
 Mounting, with tireless wings, on every wind,
And filling earth with sweetest minstrelsy.

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