Mozart, a lorgnette's target, child without toys,
Consumed utterly by his own costly gift,
Disdaining the dancers by his precocity
Was rewarded at length with a formal curtsy.

Jesus of Nazareth, wise as miracles,
Instructed priests in childhood, and he died
Crucified and forsaken cruelly,
Stars, angels, kings surround his nativity.

Athenian boy, swift master of hexameters,
And voyageur through dreams, Thomas De Quincey;
Sleep soundly now. Time to your tomb has sent
Laurel and poppy both for ornament.

Nelson walked placidly through the dark wood
To find his parents. Oh, he felt no dread
Of owl, or hooded ghost. For lacking fear
Men shot him down, put blood in his admiral's gear.

Beset by sanity and climate, another
Outwitted both, though sly and preoccupied
With writing, and men will weep, having quite forgotten
The lives of kings, the death of Chatterton.

Between the uplifted bow and the fired string
Is time to note these several prodigies.
Cease, now. The work begins. People are looking.