Our echoes roll from soul to soul, TEARS, IDLE TEARS Tears, idle tears, I know not what they mean, 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; Ah, sweeter to be drunk with loss, Than that the victor Hours should scorn XXVII I envy not in any moods Ah, sad and strange as in dark summer Nor, what may count itself as blest, Let Love clasp Grief lest both be drown 'd, 1 Goethe, says Tennyson. The The heart that never plighted troth I hold it true, whate 'er befall; LIV O, yet we trust that somehow good To pangs of nature, sins of will, That nothing walks with aimless feet; That not one life shall be destroy'd, That not a worm is cloven in vain; Behold, we know not anything; I can but trust that good shall fall So runs my dream; but what am I? * Tennyson's friend, Arthur Henry Hallam, died at Hall, 1. 12. Cp. Locksley Content due to mere want of higher faculties. Who throve and branch'd from clime to clime, In the deep night, that all is well. If so he types this work of time Within himself, from more to more; Or, crown'd with attributes of woe Like glories, move his course, and show That life is not as idle ore, But iron dug from central gloom, And heated hot with burning fears, And dipped in baths of hissing tears, And batter'd with the shocks of doom To shape and use. Arise and fly The reeling Faun, the sensual feast; Move upward, working out the beast, And let the ape and tiger die. CXXV What ever I have said or sung, Yet Hope had never lost her youth, She did but look through dimmer eyes; Or Love but play'd with gracious lies, Because he felt so fix'd in truth; And if the song were full of care, He breathed the spirit of the song; 5 periodic (in a large sense) 6 represent, properly CXXVII And all is well, tho' faith and form Proclaiming social truth shall spread, And justice, even tho' thrice again But ill for him that wears a crown, And molten up, and roar in flood; The fortress crashes from on high, And compass'd by the fires of hell; While thou, dear spirit, happy star, IN THE VALLEY OF CAUTERETZ† All along the valley, where thy waters flow, There was a violent revolution in France in I walk'd with one I loved two and thirty years All night have the roses heard Walk'd in the garden with me, The flute, violin, bassoon; All night has the casement jessamine stirr'd I said to the lily, "There is but one, Low on the sand and loud on the stone I said to the rose, "The brief night goes Shadows of three dead men, and thou wast O young lord-lover, what sighs are those, one of the three. Nightingales sang in his woods, The Master was far away; Nightingales warbled and sang Of a passion that lasts but a day; For one that will never be thine? 13 26 And the soul of the rose went into my blood, Still in the house in his coffin the Prince of And long by the garden lake I stood, courtesy lay. Two dead men have I known In courtesy like to thee; Two dead men have I loved With a love that ever will be; Three dead men have I loved, and thou art last of the three. SONG FROM MAUD§ Come into the garden, Maud, For the black bat, night, has flown, Come into the garden, Maud, I am here at the gate alone; For I heard your rivulet fall From the lake to the meadow and on to the And the woodbine spices are wafted abroad, For a breeze of morning moves, And the planet of love is on high, But the rose was awake all night for your sake, Beginning to faint in the light that she loves The lilies and roses were all awake, |