Poems by Alfred Tennyson

Poet, born sunday august 6, 1809 in Somersby Rectory, Lincolnshire (United Kingdom), died thursday october 6, 1892 in Haslemere (United Kingdom)
You can find this author also in Quotes & Aphorisms and in Humor.

Merlin And The Gleam

Once at the croak of a Raven who crost it,
a barbarous people,
Blind to the magic,
And deaf to the melody,
Snarl'd at and cursed me.
A demon vext me,
The light retreated,
The landskip darken'd,
The melody deaden'd,
The Master whisper'd
"Follow The Gleam."
Alfred Tennyson
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    Come Into The Garden

    Come into the garden, Maud,
    For the black bat, Night, has flown,
    Come into the garden, Maud,
    I am here at the gate alone;
    And the woodbine spices are wafted abroad,
    And the musk of the roses blown.

    For a breeze of morning moves,
    And the planet of Love is on high,
    Beginning to faint in the light that she loves
    On a bed of daffodil sky,
    To faint in the light of the sun she loves,
    To faint in his light, and to die.

    All night have the roses heard
    The flute, violin, bassoon;
    All night has the casement jessamine stirr'd
    To the dancers dancing in tune:
    Till a silence fell with the waking bird,
    And a hush with the setting moon.

    I said to the lily, "There is but one
    With whom she has heart to be gay.
    When will the dancers leave her alone?
    She is weary of dance and play."
    Now half to the setting moon are gone,
    And half to the rising day;
    Low on the sand and loud on the stone
    The last wheel echoes away.

    I said to the rose, "The brief night goes
    In babble and revel and wine.
    O young lordlover, what sighs are those
    For one that will never be thine?
    But mine, but mine," so I sware to the rose,
    "For ever and ever, mine."

    And the soul of the rose went into my blood,
    As the music clash'd in the hall;
    And long by the garden lake I stood,
    For I heard your rivulet fall
    From the lake to the meadow and on to the wood,
    Our wood, that is dearer than all;

    From the meadow your walks have left so sweet
    That whenever a March-wind sighs
    He sets the jewelprint of your feet
    In violets blue as your eyes,
    To the woody hollows in which we meet
    And the valleys of Paradise.

    The slender acacia would not shake
    One long milk-bloom on the tree;
    The white lake-blossom fell into the lake,
    As the pimpernel dozed on the lea;
    But the rose was awake all night for your sake,
    Knowing your promise to me;
    The lilies and roses were all awake,
    They sigh'd for the dawn and thee.

    Queen rose of the rosebud garden of girls,
    Come hither, the dances are done,
    In gloss of satin and glimmer of pearls,
    Queen lily and rose in one;
    Shine out, little head, sunning over with curls,
    To the flowers, and be their sun.

    There has fallen a splendid tear
    From the passion-flower at the gate.
    She is coming, my dove, my dear;
    She is coming, my life, my fate;
    The red rose cries, "She is near, she is near;"
    And the white rose weeps, "She is late;"
    The larkspur listens, "I hear, I hear;"
    And the lily whispers, "I wait."

    She is coming, my own, my sweet;
    Were it ever so airy a tread,
    My heart would hear her and beat,
    Were it earth in an earthy bed;
    My dust would hear her and beat,
    Had I lain for a century dead;
    Would start and tremble under her feet,
    And blossom in purple and red.
    Alfred Tennyson
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      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.
      Alfred Tennyson
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        After-Thought

        I thought of Thee, my partner and my guide,
        As being past away. - Vain sympathies!
        For backward, Duddon! As I cast my eyes,
        I see what was, and is, and will abide;
        Still glides the Stream, and shall not cease to glide;
        The Form remains, the Function never dies;
        While we, the brave, the mighty, and the wise,
        We Men, who in our morn of youth defied
        The elements, must vanish; - be it so!
        Enough, if something from our hands have power
        To live, and act, and serve the future hour;
        And if, as toward the silent tomb we go,
        Through love, through hope, and faith's transcendent dower,
        We feel that we are greater than we know.
        Alfred Tennyson
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          Will Waterproof'S Lyrical Monologue

          I grow in worth, and wit, and sense,
          Unboding critic-pen,
          Or that eternal want of pence,
          Which vexes public men,
          Who hold their hands to all, and cry
          For that which all deny them —
          Who sweep the crossings, wet or dry,
          And all the world go by them.
          Alfred Tennyson
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