Though no high-hung bells or din of braggart bugles cry it in What is sound? Nature's round Makes the Silver Jubilee. Five and twenty years have run Since sacred fountains to the sun Sprang,that but now were shut, Showering Silver Jubilee. Feasts,When we shall fall asleep, Shrewsbury may see others keep: None but you,this her true, This her Silver Jubilee. Not today we need lament Your wealth of life is some way spent: Toil has shed round your head Silver but for Jubilee. Then for her whose velvet vales Should have pealed with welcome, Wales Let the chime of a rhyme Utter Silver Jubilee.