And ever as earth waxed wiser, and softer the beating of
⁠time's wide wings,
Since fate fell dark on her father, most hapless and
⁠gentlest of star-crossed kings,
Her praise has increased as the chant of the dawn that
⁠the choir of the noon outsings.

⁠mocked at the blind sun's light;
War and woe on the land below shed heavier shadow than
⁠falls from night;
Dark was earth at her dawn of birth as here her record of
⁠praise is bright.

Clear and fair through her morning air the light first laugh
⁠of the sunlit stage
Rose and rang as a fount that sprang from depths yet
⁠dark with a spent storm's rage,
Loud and glad as a boy's, and bade the sunrise open on
⁠Shakespeare's age.