The Queen's Visit To Ireland

Each good and perfect gift man's heart to move
Comes from the heart before it leaves the hand,
At once inspired and exquisitely plann'd.
Kings learn this piece of kingcraft from above;
Men call it tact, the angels know 'tis love!—
Ours is a tragic past, a fatal land,
Which all would heal, but few can understand.
What offering, Lady, bringest thou to prove
Such souls? The sacrifice of hours, by thee
Well-won, exchanged for the continuous strain,—
Renunciation of the Italian morn,
Of the blue Mediterranean sea,
For our grey waves and April fields forlorn,—
Gift such as this will not be made in vain.