Lucy Vickery

Occasional verse | 8 February 2018

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In Competition No. 3034 you were invited to provide a poem written by a poet laureate present or past on the engagement of Prince Harry and Meghan Markle.

There are those who view the role of laureate as a poisoned chalice. Craig Raine has described how he said to Ted Hughes, during a discussion of the then-vacant post, ‘Of course, no one in their right mind would really want it.’ (‘You’d get some terrific fishing,’ Hughes responded.) And Andrew Motion was candid about its pitfalls: ‘How was I to steer an appropriate course between familiarity (which would seem presumptuous) and sycophancy (which would seem absurd)?’

You strode into the minefield with gusto, and there was much to admire in a largish and vigorous entry. Frank Osen and A.H. Harker both took inspiration from Tennyson’s ‘The May Queen’, and I much enjoyed George Simmers’s waspish twist on Masefield’s ‘Cargoes’. The winners take £25 each.

Bliss is it in this dawn to be alive,

When love so touching in its majesty

And common truth can brighten every eye

That every downcast spirit might revive.

This couple shows how two true hearts contrive

To transcend caste, tribe and geography.

We feel a brave tomorrow drawing nigh

As unity and difference gladly thrive.

Dull would he be of soul who felt no joy

When gazing on this new iconic pair,

This much applauded girl and highborn boy

Whose romance is a gift all souls may share.

When elements diverse as these alloy,

Earth has not anything to show more fair.

Chris O’Carroll/William Wordsworth

Meghan Markle, Meghan Markle,

What a welcome royal mate!

You’ve given us a rhyme for ‘sparkle’,

A joy for any Laureate!

Better still, the prince you marry

Will provide another rhyme

When you tie the knot with Harry,

Ah, what poetry sublime!

I’m sure Her Maj, the groom’s grandmother

Will see you as a force for good;

From one soap opera to another

You’ll bring a touch of Hollywood.

Of late the feeling in our Nation

Has been cold and lost and drear.

We need a royal celebration!

How nice to line the streets and cheer!

Brian Murdoch/John Betjeman

Thou golden prince, no longer profligate,

The vagaries of youth now set aside;

Abandoning thy solitary state

Hast sought on foreign shores a comely bride.

Fate summons, thou hast reached thy princely prime

And she, cognisant with the thespian skills,

May fill the royal mould; perchance o’er time

Be blest with issue as are Kate and Wills.

Can she survive the Windsor dynasty,

This star celestial, perchance replace,

With dignity, another deity,

The fair Diana, goddess of the chase?

Thy union blest with due solemnity,

Received with public zeal, thou can’st repay

The nation’s loyalty, should thou decree

Through all the realm a national holiday.

Sylvia Fairley/John Dryden

Rise, patriotic hearts! Let proud eyes sparkle

At nature’s boon of loveliness, Miss Markle.

Pallid she may not be, but in her veins

Run rich and various ancestral strains.

Once wed already, granted, yet her state

Must be regarded as inviolate,

As chaste as is the dawn that spreads with light

The dewy pastures drowned in shade by night

And cleans with moral purpose everything,

Abundant with renewal, like the Spring.

As for Prince Harry, what churl would deny

His manly virtues who has seen him fly

Beneath the whirling blades, faint-hearted not,

This paragon by royal loins begot,

Already a commander of renown

And fifth in line to wear the British crown.

Basil Ransome-Davies/Alfred Austin

When Harry first announced his choice

And asked the nation to rejoice,

A noble lady rose to voice

A fear for Camelot.

‘To taint our culture is a sin.

It’s not the colour of her skin,

But — really! — an Amurikin?’

Asked Lady Whoozeegot.

‘Divorced? An actress?’ Bold, unhushed

She railed, then paused and faltered, crushed,

For other ladies deeply blushed.

How changed was Camelot!

Her questioning she set aside.

‘She’ll make a truly lovely bride!’

She didn’t sound the least bit snide,

The Lady Whoozeegot.

Max Gutmann/Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Drabs and dullards, go away,

For this is Harry’s wedding day

(And that, of course, of Meghan Markle).

I shall laud, with odes monarchal,

Meg and Harry’s wedding day.

(Were Dryden here, no doubt he’d say

‘Shadwellian tautology!’

But who’s the Poet Laureate? Me!

And frankly, I don’t care a fig

For what he thinks, that stuffy prig.)

Returning to the matter prime,

I’m here to celebrate in rhyme

The day that — let my poem sparkle! —

Harry marries Meghan Markle.

None shall mar this happy day,

So, drabs and dullards, go away!

Brian Allgar/Thomas Shadwell

No. 3037: from A to B

You are invited take a song by Abba or the Beatles (please specify) and rewrite the lyrics as a sonnet. Email entries to lucy@spectator.co.uk by midday on 21 February, please.