Welcome back to Season 17 of the Well Read Poem! This season's theme is "When Homer Nods: Bad Poetry by Good Poets." Until this season, our readings on The Well Read Poem have nearly all been drawn from the well of the great, or at least the good, waters of poetry, which would of course take a lifetime and more to exhaust. And so it has been deemed appropriate at summer's close, as we return to school and the daily round, that we should partake slightly of a few select vintages of bad poetry by otherwise accomplished poets for the sake of variety and the amusement of all.

Today's selection is "On the Jubilee of Queen Victoria" by Alfred, Lord Tennyson. Poem reading begins at timestamp 7:47.

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On the Jubilee of Queen Victoria

by Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Fifty times the rose has flower'd and faded, Fifty times the golden harvest fallen, Since our Queen assumed the globe, the sceptre.

II.

She beloved for a kindliness Rare in fable or history, Queen, and Empress of India, Crown'd so long with a diadem Never worn by a worthier, Now with prosperous auguries Comes at last to the bounteous Crowning year of her Jubilee.

III.

Nothing of the lawless, of the despot, Nothing of the vulgar, or vainglorious, All is gracious, gentle, great and queenly.

IV.

You then joyfully, all of you, Set the mountain aflame to-night, Shoot your stars to the firmament, Deck your houses, illuminate All your towns for a festival, And in each let a multitude Loyal, each, to the heart of it, One full voice of allegiance, Hail the fair Ceremonial Of this year of her Jubilee.

Queen, as true to womanhood as Queenhood, Glorying in the glories of her people, Sorrowing with the sorrows of the lowest!

VI.

You, that wanton in affluence, Spare not now to be bountiful, Call your poor to regale with you, All the lowly, the destitute, Make their neighborhood healthfuller, Give your gold to the hospital, Let the weary be comforted, Let the needy be banqueted, Let the maim'd in his heart rejoice At this glad Ceremonial, And this year of her Jubilee.

VII.

Henry's fifty years are all in shadow, Gray with distance Edward's fifty summers, Even her Grandsire's fifty half forgotten.

VIII.

You, the Patriot Architect, You that shape for eternity, Raise a stately memorial, Make it regally gorgeous, Some Imperial Institute, Rich in symbol, in ornament, Which may speak to the centuries, All the centuries after us, Of this great Ceremonial, And this year of her Jubilee.

IX.

Fifty years of ever-broadening Commerce! Fifty years of ever-brightening Science! Fifty years of ever-widening Empire!

You, the Mighty, the Fortunate, You, the Lord-territorial, You, the Lord-manufacturer, You, the hardy, laborious, Patient children of Albion, You, Canadian, Indian, Australasian, African, All your hearts be in harmony, All your voices in unison. Singing, 'Hail to the glorious Golden year of her Jubilee!'

XI.

Are there thunders moaning in the distance? Are there spectres moving in the darkness? Trust the Hand of Light will lead her people, Till the thunders pass, the spectres vanish, And the Light is Victor, and the darkness Dawns into the Jubilee of the Ages.

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