Had I but half the talent of the bard
My days I’d ever pass with pen and page.
To tear my thoughts from writing would be hard
A moment spent elsewise would seem an age.
This man had such a gift as seldom seen
In present times or in a bygone day.
Bequeathing joy, where’er his words hath been,
Ensuring that his fame will ever stay.
Rememb’ring, then, his day of birth and death,
We raise a glass in honour of his name.
With praise and admiration on each breath,
All those of likemind fondly will proclaim,
‘Hear thou, O bard, who long hath ceased to be,
That on this day, the world shalt honour thee!’