Tennyson

Of our Laureate we now do sing,
His youthful muse had daring wing,
He then despised Baronhood,
And sang 'twas noble to be good.
None sang like him of knights of old,
He England's glory did uphold;
In wondrous song he hath arrayed
Glorious charge of light brigade,
And he hath the people's benison,
Greatest of living poets Tennyson.