Phantasmagoria and Other Poems

MY First is singular at best:
More plural is my Second:
My Third is far the pluralest –
So plural-plural, I protest
It scarcely can be reckoned!

My First is followed by a bird:
My Second by believers
In magic art: my simple Third
Follows, too often, hopes absurd
And plausible deceivers.

My First to get at wisdom tries –
A failure melancholy!
My Second men revered as wise:
My Third from heights of wisdom flies
To depths of frantic folly.

My First is ageing day by day:
My Second's age is ended:
My Third enjoys an age, they say,
That never seems to fade away,
Through centuries extended.

My Whole? I need a poet's pen
To paint her myriad phases:
The monarch, and the slave, of men –
A mountain-summit, and a den
Of dark and deadly mazes –

A flashing light – a fleeting shade –
Beginning, end, and middle
Of all that human art hath made
Or wit devised! Go, seek HER aid,
If you would read my riddle!

Fame's Penny Trumpet

Affectionately dedicated to all original researchers who pant for endowment.