William Bell Scott
Stratford - Poem by William Bell Scott
This is the street where Shakespeare's childhood grew
To Shakespeare's manhood, back to which he drew,
To walk in peace along the paths he knew.
At morn and eve of quiet days
To hear the small birds' well-known lays,
To see the bat flit noiselessly,
And rooks against the molten sky,
He passed the loud-mouthed audience by,
And left to all the winds of fate
The poet's immortality,
Yea, even to the green-room care
Heminge and Condell had to spare.
So act the strong self-centred great!
‘Children we are as ye,’ they say,
‘Players, spectators, for life's day,
Which are the masters of the play?’
Comments about Stratford by William Bell Scott
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep
Mary Elizabeth Frye