Poetry Archives

Hallow the threshold, crown the posts anew!
    The day shall have its due.
Twist all our victories into one bright wreath,
    On which let honour breathe;
Then throw it round the temples of our Queen!
’Tis she that must preserve those glories green.

When greater tempests than on sea before
    Received her on the shore;
When she was shot at ‘for the King’s own good’
    By legions hired to blood;
How bravely did she do, how bravely bear!
And show’d, though they durst rage, she durst not fear.

Courage was cast about her like a dress
    Of solemn comeliness:
A gather’d mind and an untroubled face
    Did give her dangers grace:
Thus, arm’d with innocence, secure they move
Whose highest ‘treason’ is but highest love.