Shakespeare, Oxford I Do Name Thee
Sinking helplessly through quicksands of time
A tiny grain through an hourglass figure,
I will with the charm of a wordsmith's rhyme
Restore thee to full honour and vigour.
S-P-E-L-L a word aright and cast the right spell
To conjure thee like noble Hamlet's ghost.
Anonymity's witchcraft to dispel
As by the grace of the heavenly host;
From history's curse, I do release thee
Shakespeare, thy name Oxford I do aver.
In return, I entreat thee, set me free
Thou, who to the last, was in name a Vere.
Now that misidentity's set aright,
We from mists of obscurity alight.
For E-Ver Shakespeare
As an oar is lightly dipped in the sea,
So in thine eyes do mine cast anchor;
As if they held some secret prophecy,
Struggling to issue from amid the rancour.
Thy lips remain as mute from age to age,
As pursed and silent to the artist's brush
As thine eyes speak volumes of the sage,
Whose words are muted by protracted hush.
William Shakespeare, I do proclaim thy name
To be de Vere, to whom I ever aver.
The Shakespearian portrait is the same
As him whom the generations revere.
The man for whom I record this rhyme
May he long continue his journey through time.
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