Edmund Clarence Stedman, ed. (1833–1908). An American Anthology, 1787–1900. 1900.
By Sarah Morgan BryanPiatt675 A Call on Sir Walter Raleigh
“A
—And, prithee, hath he gone to court?”
“Nay; he hath sailed but yesterday,
With Edmund Spenser, from this port.
Twelve cantos, called ‘The Faërie Queene.’
To seek for one to publish it,
They go—on a long voyage, I ween.”
This ruffed and plumëd cavalier,—
He whom romance and history,
Alike, to all the world make dear.
Of our New World, where he hath been;
And now they say—I marked them well—
They say the Master is not in!
Sir Walter at the window there.
—That is the hat, the sword, which he
In pictures hath been pleased to wear.
Elizabeth set foot. (But oh,
Young diplomat, as things have gone,
Pity it is she soiled it so!)
(That weirdly charmed Virginia weed!)
Make haste, bring anything; his cloak—
They save him with a shower, indeed!
He walked his garden. Day is dim,
And death-sweet scents rise to the air
From flowers that gave their breath to him.
The dark church glimmers where he prayed;
Here, with that high head shorn of plumes,
The tree he planted gave him shade.
It stained the Tower, when gray with grief.
O tree he planted, as I go,
For him I tenderly take a leaf.
Of one dead knight forgot at court.
—And yet he sailed but yesterday,
With Edmund Spenser, from this port.