ON A COLOSSUS UPON HIS EXODUS
Tell it all, through lands and climes, ye zephyrs.
His life, his epic, do raise in sweet strain.
Tell them yet -- feats wrought ere he left these spheres,
Going the way of all flesh, life to gain.
O what priceless times I here envision!
When ere he, through Holborn's wide gates did pass,
Worked hard while he these lands nobly walked through.
Up central London sought he cognition,
And returning, cast on our minds canvass,
Well limned in homespun hue, a patriot true.
O priceless moments in recollection!
When us in discourse all time stood stone-still.
Had I but the reins of time and motion,
With but a beck, I'd dwell in them at will.
O those accents clear! Bearing volumes dear;
Tender pieces spun by a seasoned lyre.
How they flood my heart in reminiscence!
O what settled mien? What panache? What flair?
O what grace that shone, burning bright as fire!
How potently they charm all of my sense!
Hurly-burly's done, battle's fought and won.
Eyes boast no perception where the mind sees
For whilst the grief, tears pent and spent roll on,
Up and yon, you sail Sion's silver seas.
As Christ, the sepulchre could all but thrall,
Grandpa, your epic strides still in stout flair,
Finely gracing your brow with a nimbus.
My ovation soars at you curtain-call
Which ends it not... Vivam, avus...vivere
In verba...in cartis...in cordibus.
Lysander Oquea Ese Livinus