Your fist that turned the pinkest rivals pale
Alike with sceptre, chisel, pen or palette,
And could at any moment, gloved in mail,
Smite like a mallet;
Master of all the Arts, and, what was more,
Lord of the limelight blaze that let us know it—
You seemed a gift designed on purpose for
The flippant poet.
Time passed and put to these old jests an end;
Into our open hearts you found admission,