Classic Poem

Why ended not the world when Shakespeare died?
When the old World-Tree's topmost bloom uprears
And shows the perfect flower that hath no peers,
Slow fate's consummate bloom and darling pride,
Why longer should its flowerless trunk abide?
Why lengthen out, sport of the high gods' jeers,
The anti-climax of its after years
In bloomless barrenness unjustified?

Ah, me, the World-Tree's root strikes very deep
Down to the midmost core of central strength,
And draws its life-sap through long winding ways:
New life some day shall through its branches creep,
And on its topmost bough shall bloom at length
Another Shakespeare—after many days.