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I murmur under moon and stars

In brambly wildernesses;
I linger by my shingly bars;

I loiter round my cresses;

And out again I curve and flow

To join the brimming river,
For men may come and men may go,
But I go on for ever.

Lord Tennyson

CCCLX

As thro' the land at eve we went,

And pluck'd the ripen'd ears,
We fell out, my wife and I,
We fell out, I know not why,

And kiss'd again with tears.

And blessings on the falling out

That all the more endears,
When we fall out with those we love

And kiss again with tears !

For when we came where lies the child

We lost in other years,
There above the little grave,
O there above the little grave,
We kiss'd again with tears.

Lord Tennyson

CCCLXI

The splendour falls on castle walls

And snowy summits old in story:
The long light shakes across the lakes,

And the wild cataract leaps in glory.
Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying,
Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying

O hark, o hear! how thin and clear,

And thinner, clearer, farther going !
O sweet and far from cliff and scar

The horns of Elfland faintly blowing !
Blow, let us hear the purple glens replying :
Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying.

O love, they die in yon rich sky,

They faint on hill or field or river:
Our echoes roll from soul to soul,

And grow for ever and for ever.
Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying,
And answer, echoes, answer, dying, dying dying.

Lord Tennyson

CCCLXII

Tears, idle tears, I know not what they mean, Tears from the depth of some divine despair Rise in the heart, and gather to the eyes, In looking on the happy Autumn-fields, And thinking of the days that are no more.

Fresh as the first beam glittering on a sail, That brings our friends up from the underworld, Sad as the last which reddens over one That sinks with all we love below the verge; So sad, so fresh, the days that are no more.

Ah, sad and strange as in dark summer dawns
The earliest pipe of half-awaken'd birds
To dying ears, when unto dying eyes
The casement slowly grows a glimmering square;
So sad, so strange, the days that are no more.

Dear as remember'd kisses after death,
And sweet as those by hopeless fancy feign'd
On lips that are for others; deep as love,
Deep as first love, and wild with all regret;
O Death in Life, the days that are no more.

Lord Tennysor

CCCLXIII

O Swallow, Swallow, flying, flying South, Fly to her, and fall upon her gilded eaves, And tell her, tell her what I tell to thee.

O tell her, Swallow, thou that knowest each, That bright and fierce and fickle is the South, And dark and true and tender is the North.

O Swallow, Swallow, if I could follow, and light Upon her lattice, I would pipe and trill, And cheep and twitter twenty million loves.

O were I thou that she might take me in, And lay me on her bosom, and her heart Would rock the snowy cradle till I died.

Why lingereth she to clothe her heart with love,
Delaying as the tender ash delays
To clothe herself, when all the woods are green?

O tell her, Swallow, that thy brood is flown:
Say to her, I do but wanton in the South,
But in the North long since my nest is made.

O tell her, brief is life but love is long,
And brief the sun of summer in the North,
And brief the moon of beauty in the South.

O Swallow, flying from the golden woods, Fly to her, and pipe and woo her, and make her mine, And tell her, tell her, that I follow thee.

Lord Tennyson

CCCLXIV
Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky,

The flying cloud, the frosty light:

The year is dying in the night; Ring out, wild bells, and let him die.

Ring out the old, ring in the new,

Ring, happy bells, across the snow:

The year is going, let him go; Ring out the false, ring in the true. Ring out the grief that saps the mind,

For those that here we see no more;

Ring out the feud of rich and poor,
Ring in redress to all mankind.
Ring out a slowly dying cause,

And ancient forms of party strife;

Ring in the nobler modes of life, With sweeter manners, purer laws. Ring out the want, the care, the sin,

The faithless coldness of the times;

Ring out, ring out my mournful rhymes, But ring the fuller minstrel in. Ring out false pride in place and blood,

The civic slander and the spite;

Ring in the love of truth and right,
Ring in the common love of good.
Ring out old shapes of foul disease;

Ring out the narrowing lust of gold;

Ring out the thousand wars of old, Ring in the thousand years of peace. Ring in the valiant man and free,

The larger heart, the kindlier hand;

Ring out the darkness of the land, Ring in the Christ that is to be.

Lord Tennyson

CCCLXV

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 lord-lover, 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 along 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 ;

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