Tennyson

We of the New World clasp hands with the Old
In newer fervor and with firmer hold
And nobler fellowship,--
O Master Singer, with the finger-tip
Of Death laid thus on thy melodious lip!

All ages thou has honored with thine art,
And ages yet unborn thou wilt be part
Of all songs pure and true!
Thine now the universal homage due
From Old and New World--ay, and still The New!