On the Death of Edward VII

Honour the happy dead with sober praise,
Who living would have scorned the fulsome phrase
Meet for the languorous Orient's jewelled ear: —
This was the English King, that loved the English ways!
A man not too remote, or too august,
For other mortal children of the dust
To know and to draw near.
Born with a nature that demanded joy,
He took full draughts of life, nor did the vintage cloy;
But when she passed from vision, who so long
Had sat aloft — alone —
On the steep heights of an Imperial throne.
Then rose he large and strong,
Then spake his voice with new and grander tone,
Then, called to rule the State
Which he had only served,
He saw clear Duty plain, nor from that highway swerved,
And, unappalled by his majestic fate,
Pretended not to greatness, yet was great.
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