Lord Alfred Tennyson
To Virgil, Written at the Request of the Mantuans for the N
Roman Virgil, thou that singest Ilion’s lofty temples robed in fire, Ilion falling, Rome arising, Wars, and filial faith, and Dido’s pyre; Landscape-lover, lord of language More than he that sang the “Works and
Duet
1. Is it the wind of the dawn that I hear In the pine overhead? 2. No; but the voice of the deep as it hollows The cliffs of the land. 1. Is there
Sweet And Low
Sweet and low, sweet and low, Wind of the western sea, Low, low, breathe and blow, Wind of the western sea! Over the rolling waters go, Come from the dying moon, and blow, Blow
Come down, O Maid
COME down, O maid, from yonder mountain height: What pleasure lives in height (the shepherd sang), In height and cold, the splendour of the hills? But cease to move so near the Heavens, and
Boadicea
While about the shore of Mona those Neronian legionaries Burnt and broke the grove and altar of the Druid and Druidess, Far in the East Boadicea, standing loftily charioted, Mad and maddening all that
In Memoriam A. H. H.: 45. The baby new to earth and sky
The baby new to earth and sky, What time his tender palm is prest Against the circle of the breast, Has never thought that “this is I”: But as he grows he gathers much,
The Lotos-eaters
“Courage!” he said, and pointed toward the land, “This mounting wave will roll us shoreward soon.” In the afternoon they came unto a land In which it seemed always afternoon. All round the coast
Sir Galahad
MY good blade carves the casques of men, My tough lance thrusteth sure, My strength is as the strength of ten, Because my heart is pure. The shattering trumpet shrilleth high, The hard brands
The Charge Of The Light Brigade
Half a league, half a league, Half a league onward, All in the valley of Death Rode the six hundred. “Forward, the Light Brigade! Charge for the guns!” he said: Into the valley of
In Memoriam 82: I Wage Not Any Feud With Death
I wage not any feud with Death For changes wrought on form and face; No lower life that earth’s embrace May breed with him, can fright my faith. Eternal process moving on, From state
Dedication
Dedication These to His Memory since he held them dear, Perchance as finding there unconsciously Some image of himself I dedicate, I dedicate, I consecrate with tears These Idylls. And indeed He seems to
In Memoriam 16: I envy not in any moods
I envy not in any moods The captive void of noble rage, The linnet born within the cage, That never knew the summer woods: I envy not the beast that takes His license in
Claribel
Where Claribel low-lieth The breezes pause and die, Letting the rose-leaves fall: But the solemn oak-tree sigheth, Thick-leaved, ambrosial, With an ancient melody Of an inward agony, Where Claribel low-lieth. At eve the beetle
In Memoriam A. H. H.: Is it, then, regret for buried time
Is it, then, regret for buried time That keenlier in sweet April wakes, And meets the year, and gives and takes The colours of the crescent prime? Not all: the songs, the stirring air,
Late, Late, So Late
Late, late, so late! and dark the night and chill! Late, late, so late! but we can enter still. Too late, too late! ye cannot enter now. No light had we: for that we