Jovial Shakespeare, like the man he was,
Loved every flower in God's marvelous room,
Remembering all the happy bells and grass
And morning spinning like a rose to bloom.
How often had he rambled with the dew
At tip of dawn across the ancient hills,
Plucking the violet, pausing where it grew
To gather bundles of the daffodils.
Full of God's music and the world and time
His consciousness contained eternity.
As old as space and time and earth, and broad--
The world went thru his blood to knock; sublime;
He reached among the planets and infinity
And laid his hand into the hand of God.
