The Poetry Corner

To Edward Fitzgerald

By Henry John Newbolt, Sir

(MARCH 31ST, 1909) 'Tis a sad fate To watch the world fighting, All that is most fair Ruthlessly blighting, Blighting, ah! blighting. When such a thought cometh Let us not pine, But gather old friends Round the red wine-- Oh! pour the red wine! And there we'll talk And warm our wits With Eastern fallacies Out of old Fitz! British old Fitz! See him, half statesman-- Philosopher too-- Half ancient mariner In baggy blue-- Such baggy blue! Whimsical, wistful, Haughty, forsooth: Indolent always, yet Ardent in truth, But indolent, indolent! There at the table With us sits he, Charming us subtly To reverie, Magic reverie. "How sweet is summer's breath, How sure and swift is death; Nought wise on earth, save What the wine whispereth, Dreamily whispereth. "At Nashapr beneath the sun, Or here in misty Babylon, Drink! for the rose leaves while you linger Are falling, ever falling, one by one." Ah! poet's soul, once more with us conspire To grasp this sorry scheme of things entire, Once more with us to-night, old Fitz, once more Remould it nearer to the heart's desire!