When stark oblivion froze above their names
  Whose glory shone round Shakespeare's, bright as now,
  One eye beheld their light shine full as fame's,
  One hand unveiled it: this did none but thou.
  Love, stronger than forgetfulness and sleep,
  Rose, and bade memory rise, and England hear:
  And all the harvest left so long to reap
  Shone ripe and rich in every sheaf and ear.

  A child it was who first by grace of thine
  Communed with gods who share with thee their shrine:
  Elder than thou wast ever now I am,
  Now that I lay before thee in thanksgiving
  Praise of dead men divine and everliving
  Whose praise is thine as thine is theirs, Charles Lamb.