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TO ALFRED TENNYSON, MY GRANDSON
Hands all Round
Dedicatory Poem to the Princess Alice 508 HAROLD
WHERE Claribel low-lieth
Letting the rose-leaves fall: But the solemn oak-tree sigheth,
Of an inward agony,
When will the clouds be aweary of
fleeting? When will the heart be aweary of
And nature die?
The stream flows,
Nothing will die.
Here and there,
Till the air
At eve the beetle boometh
Athwart the thicket lone : At noon the wild bee hummeth
About the moss'd headstone: At midnight the moon cometh,
And looketh down alone. Her song the lintwhite swelleth, The clear-voiced mavis dwelleth,
The callow throstle lispeth, The slumbrous wave outwelleth,
The babbling runnel crispeth, The hollow grot replieth
Where Claribel low-lieth.
NOTHING WILL DIE.
WHEN will the stream be aweary of
Under my eye? When will the wind be aweary of blowing
Over the sky?
The wcrld was never made;
Ever will be
ALL THINGS WILL DIE.
All things were born.
CLEARLY the blue river chimes in its
Under my eye ; Warmly and broadly the south winds are
Over the sky. One after another the white clouds are
fleeting; Every heart this May morning in joyance is beating
All things must die.
The old earth
LEONINE ELEGIACS. LOW-FLOWING breezes are roaming the
broad valley dimm'd in the gloaming : Thro' the black-stemm'd pines only the
far river shines. Creeping thro' blossomy rushes and bowers
of rose-blowing bushes, Down by the poplar tall rivulets babble
and fall. Barketh the shepherd-dog cheerly; the
grasshopper carolleth clearly; Deeply the wood-dove coos; shrilly the
owlet halloos; Winds creep; dews fall chilly: in her
first sleep earth breathes stilly: Over the pools in the burn water-gnats
murmur and mourn. Sadly the far kine loweth : the glimmer
ing water outfloweth : Twin peaks shadow'd with pine slope to
the dark hyaline. Low-throned Hesper is stayed between
the two peaks; but the Naiad Throbbing in mild unrest holds him
beneath in her breast. The ancient poetess singeth, that Hes
perus all things bringeth, Smoothing the wearied mind: bring me
my love, Rosalind. Thou comest morning or
even; she cometh not morning or even. False-eyed Hesper, unkind, where is my
sweet Rosalind ?
OF A SECOND-RATE SENSITIVE MIND.
O Gon! my God! have mercy now.