Edmund Clarence Stedman

“Ergo Iris”

Weary at length of the ancestral gloom,
⁠     The self-same drone, the patter of dull pens,
Nature sent Iris of the rosy plume,
⁠     Bearing to Holmes her wonder-working lens;
Grateful, he gave his dearest child her name,
⁠     Lit the shrewd East with laughter, love, and tears,—
Bade halt the sun—and arching into fame
⁠     His rainbowed fancy now the world enspheres.