CLOUDS here and there arisen an hour past noon br Chequered our English heaven with lengthening bars br And shadow and sound of wheel-winged thunder-cars br Assembling strength to put forth tempest soon, br When the clear still warm concord of thy tune br Rose under skies unscared by reddening Mars br Yet, like a sound of silver speech of stars, br With full mild flame as of the mellowing moon. br Grave and great-hearted Massinger, thy face br High melancholy lights with loftier grace br Than gilds the brows of revel: sad and wise, br The spirit of thought that moved thy deeper song, br Sorrow serene in soft calm scorn of wrong, br Speaks patience yet from thy majestic eyes.