Selected Poems of Alfred, Lord Tennyson
Author: Alfred Tennyson
Date: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Year 4; Poetry

Selected Poems
of

Alfred, Lord Tennyson

1809-1892

1
Crossing the Bar

Sunset and evening star,

And one clear call for me!

And may there be no moaning of the bar,

When I put out to sea,

But such a tide as moving seems asleep,

Too full for sound and foam,

When that which drew from out the boundless deep

Turns again home.

Twilight and evening bell,

And after that the dark!

And may there be no sadness of farewell,

When I embark;

For tho’ from out our bourne of Time and Place

The flood may bear me far,

I hope to see my Pilot face to face

When I have crost the bar.

2
The Eagle

He clasps the crag with crooked hands;

Close to the sun in lonely lands,

Ring’d with the azure world, he stands.

The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls;

He watches from his mountain walls,

And like a thunderbolt he falls.

3
Strong Son of God, Immortal Love

Strong Son of God, immortal Love,

Whom we, that have not seen thy face,

By faith, and faith alone, embrace,

Believing where we cannot prove;

Thine are these orbs of light and shade;

Thou madest Life in man and brute;

Thou madest Death; and lo, thy foot

Is on the skull which thou hast made.

Thou wilt not leave us in the dust:

Thou madest man, he knows not why,

He thinks he was not made to die;

And thou hast made him: thou art just.

Thou seemest human and divine,

The highest, holiest manhood, thou:

Our wills are ours, we know not how;

Our wills are ours, to make them thine.

Our little systems have their day;

They have their day and cease to be:

They are but broken lights of thee,

And thou, O Lord, art more than they.

We have but faith: we cannot know;

For knowledge is of things we see;

And yet we trust it comes from thee,

A beam in darkness: let it grow.

Let knowledge grow from more to more,

But more of reverence in us dwell;

That mind and soul, according well,

May make one music as before,

But vaster. We are fools and slight;

We mock thee when we do not fear:

But help thy foolish ones to bear;

Help thy vain worlds to bear thy light.

Forgive what seem’d my sin in me;

What seem’d my worth since I began;

For merit lives from man to man,

And not from man, O Lord, to thee.

Forgive my grief for one removed,

Thy creature, whom I found so fair.

I trust he lives in thee, and there

I find him worthier to be loved.

Forgive these wild and wandering cries,

Confusions of a wasted youth;

Forgive them where they fail in truth,

And in thy wisdom make me wise.

4
Ring Out, Wild Bells

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.

5
The Kraken

Below the thunders of the upper deep;

Far, far beneath in the abysmal sea,

His ancient, dreamless, uninvaded sleep

The Kraken sleepeth: faintest sunlights flee

About his shadowy sides: above him swell

Huge sponges of millennial growth and height;

And far away into the sickly light,

From many a wondrous grot and secret cell

Unnumber’d and enormous polypi

Winnow with giant arms the slumbering green.

There hath he lain for ages and will lie

Battening upon huge seaworms in his sleep,

Until the latter fire shall heat the deep;

Then once by man and angels to be seen,

In roaring he shall rise and on the surface die.

6
The Sea-Fairies

Slow sail’d the weary mariners and saw,

Betwixt the green brink and the running foam,

Sweet faces, rounded arms, and bosoms prest

To little harps of gold; and while they mused

Whispering to each other half in fear,

Shrill music reach’d them on the middle sea.

Whither away, whither away, whither away?

fly no more.

Whither away, from the high green field,
and the happy blossoming shore?

Day and night to the billow the fountain calls;

Down shower the gambolling waterfalls

From wandering over the lea;

Out of the live-green heart of the dells

They freshen the silvery-crimson shells,

And thick with white bells the clover-hill swells

High over the full-toned sea:

O, hither, come hither and furl your sails,

Come hither to me and to me;

Hither, come hither and frolic and play;

Here it is only the mew that wails;

We will sing to you all the day.

Mariner, mariner, furl your sails,

For here are the blissful downs and dales,

And merrily, merrily carol the gales,

And the spangle dances in bight and bay,

And the rainbow forms and flies on the land

Over the islands free;

And the rainbow lives in the curve of the sand;

Hither, come hither and see;

And the rainbow hangs on the poising wave,

And sweet is the color of cove and cave,

And sweet shall your welcome be.

O, hither, come hither, and be our lords,

For merry brides are we.

We will kiss sweet kisses, and speak sweet words;

O, listen, listen, your eyes shall glisten

With pleasure and love and jubilee.

O, listen, listen, your eyes shall glisten

When the sharp clear twang of the golden chords

Runs up the ridged sea.

Who can light on as happy a shore

All the world o’er, all the world o’er?

Whither away? listen and stay; mariner, mariner,
fly no more.

7
Break, Break, Break

Break, break, break,

On thy cold gray stones, O Sea!

And I would that my tongue could utter

The thoughts that arise in me.

O, well for the fisherman’s boy,

That he shouts with his sister at play!

O, well for the sailor lad,

That he sings in his boat on the bay!

And the stately ships go on

To their haven under the hill;

But O for the touch of a vanish’d hand,

And the sound of a voice that is still!

Break, break, break

At the foot of thy crags, O Sea!

But the tender grace of a day that is dead

Will never come back to me.

8
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 Death

Rode the six hundred.

“Forward, the Light Brigade!”

Was there a man dismayed?

Not though the soldier knew

Someone had blundered.

Theirs not to make reply,

Theirs not to reason why,

Theirs but to do and die.

Into the valley of Death

Rode the six hundred.

Cannon to right of them,

Cannon to left of them,

Cannon in front of them

Volleyed and thundered;

Stormed at with shot and shell,

Boldly they rode and well,

Into the jaws of Death,

Into the mouth of hell

Rode the six hundred.

Flashed all their sabres bare,

Flashed as they turned in air

Sabring the gunners there,

Charging an army, while

All the world wondered.

Plunged in the battery-smoke

Right through the line they broke;

Cossack and Russian

Reeled from the sabre stroke

Shattered and sundered.

Then they rode back, but not

Not the six hundred.

Cannon to right of them,

Cannon to left of them,

Cannon behind them

Volleyed and thundered;

Stormed at with shot and shell,

While horse and hero fell.

They that had fought so well

Came through the jaws of Death,

Back from the mouth of hell,

All that was left of them,

Left of six hundred.

When can their glory fade?

O the wild charge they made!

All the world wondered.

Honour the charge they made!

Honour the Light Brigade,

Noble six hundred!

9
The Oak

Live thy life,

Young and old,

Like yon oak,

Bright in spring,

Living gold;

Summer-rich

Then; and then

Autumn-changed,

Soberer hued

Gold again.

All his leaves

Fall’n at length,

Look, he stands,

Trunk and bough,

Naked strength.

10
In Memoriam, VII

Dark house, by which once more I stand

Here in the long unlovely street,

Doors, where my heart was used to beat

So quickly, waiting for a hand,

A hand that can be clasp’d no more—

Behold me, for I cannot sleep,

And like a guilty thing I creep

At earliest morning to the door.

He is not here; but far away

The noise of life begins again,

And ghastly thro’ the drizzling rain

On the bald street breaks the blank day.

11
The Splendor Falls
from The Princess

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.

12
Tears, Idle Tears
from The Princess

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!

13
The Palace of Art

Full of long-sounding corridors it was,
over-vaulted grateful gloom,

Thro’ which the livelong day my soul did pass,

Well-pleased, from room to room.

Full of great rooms and small the palace stood,

All various, each a perfect whole

From living Nature, fit for every mood

And change of my still soul.

For some were hung with arras green and blue,

Showing a gaudy summer-morn,

Where with puff’d cheek the belted hunter blew

His wreathed bugle-horn.

One seem’d all dark and red — a tract of sand,

And some one pacing there alone,

Who paced for ever in a glimmering land,

Lit with a low large moon.

One show’d an iron coast and angry waves

You seem’d to hear them climb and fall

And roar rock-thwarted under bellowing caves,

Beneath the windy wall.

And one, a full-fed river winding slow

By herds upon an endless plain,

The ragged rims of thunder brooding low,

With shadow-streaks of rain.

And one, the reapers at their sultry toil.

In front they bound the sheaves. Behind

Were realms of upland, prodigal in oil,

And hoary to the wind.

And one a foreground black with stones and slags,
beyond, a line of heights, and higher

All barr’d with long white cloud the scornful crags,

And highest, snow and fire.

And one, an English home—gray twilight pour’d

On dewy pastures, dewy trees,

Softer than sleep—all things in order stored,

A haunt of ancient Peace.

Nor these alone, but every landscape fair,

As fit for every mood of mind,

Or gay, or grave, or sweet, or stern, was there,

Not less than truth design’d.

14
Sweet and Low
from The Princess

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 him again to me;

While my little one, while my pretty one, sleeps.

Sleep and rest, sleep and rest,

Father will come to thee soon;

Rest, rest, on mother’s breast,

Father will come to thee soon;

Father will come to his babe in the nest,

Silver sails all out of the west

Under the silver moon:

Sleep, my little one, sleep, my pretty one, sleep.

15
Ask Me No More
from The Princess

Ask me no more: the moon may draw the sea;

The cloud may stoop from heaven and take the shape,

With fold to fold, of mountain or of cape;

But O too fond, when have I answer’d thee?

Ask me no more.

Ask me no more: what answer should I give?

I love not hollow cheek or faded eye:

Yet, O my friend, I will not have thee die!

Ask me no more, lest I should bid thee live;

Ask me no more.

Ask me no more: thy fate and mine are seal’d:

I strove against the stream and all in vain:

Let the great river take me to the main:

No more, dear love, for at a touch I yield;

Ask me no more.

16
The Flower

Once in a golden hour

I cast to earth a seed.

Up there came a flower,

The people said, a weed.

To and fro they went

Thro’ my garden bower,

And muttering discontent

Cursed me and my flower.

Then it grew so tall

It wore a crown of light,

But thieves from o’er the wall

Stole the seed by night.

Sow’d it far and wide

By every town and tower,

Till all the people cried,

“Splendid is the flower!”

Read my little fable:

He that runs may read.

Most can raise the flowers now,

For all have got the seed.

And some are pretty enough,

And some are poor indeed;

And now again the people

Call it but a weed.

17
A Farewell

Flow down, cold rivulet, to the sea,

Thy tribute wave deliver:

No more by thee my steps shall be,

For ever and for ever.

Flow, softly flow, by lawn and lea,

A rivulet then a river:

Nowhere by thee my steps shall be

For ever and for ever.

But here will sigh thine alder tree

And here thine aspen shiver;

And here by thee will hum the bee,

For ever and for ever.

A thousand suns will stream on thee,

A thousand moons will quiver;

But not by thee my steps shall be,

For ever and for ever.

18
Of Old Sat Freedom

Of old sat Freedom on the heights,

The thunders breaking at her feet:

Above her shook the starry lights:

She heard the torrents meet.

There in her place she did rejoice,

Self-gather’d in her prophet-mind,

But fragments of her mighty voice

Came rolling on the wind.

Then stept she down thro’ town and field

To mingle with the human race,

And part by part to men reveal’d

The fulness of her face—

Grave mother of majestic works,

From her isle-altar gazing down,

Who, God-like, grasps the triple forks,

And, King-like, wears the crown:

Her open eyes desire the truth.

The wisdom of a thousand years

Is in them. May perpetual youth

Keep dry their light from tears;

That her fair form may stand and shine,

Make bright our days and light our dreams,

Turning to scorn with lips divine

The falsehood of extremes!

19
The Blackbird

O blackbird! sing me something well:

While all the neighbors shoot thee round,

I keep smooth plats of fruitful ground,

Where thou mayst warble, eat, and dwell.

The espaliers and the standards all

Are thine; the range of lawn and park;

The unnetted black-hearts ripen dark,

All thine, against the garden wall.

Yet, tho’ I spared thee all the spring,

Thy sole delight is, sitting still,

With that gold dagger of thy bill

To fret the summer jenneting.

A golden bill! thy silver tongue,

Cold February loved, is dry;

Plenty corrupts the melody

That made thee famous once when young;

And in the sultry garden-squares,

Now thy flute-notes are changed to coarse,

I hear thee not at all, or hoarse

As when a hawker hawks his wares.

Take warning! he that will not sing

While yon sun prospers in the blue,

Shall sing for want, ere leaves are new,

Caught in the frozen palms of Spring.

20
Circumstance

Two children in two neighbor villages

Playing mad pranks along the heathy leas;

Two strangers meeting at a festival;

Two lovers whispering by an orchard wall:

Two lives bound fast in one with golden ease;

Two graves grass-green beside a gray church-tower,

Wash’d with still rains and daisy-blossomed;

Two children in one hamlet born and bred:

So runs the round of life from hour to hour.

21
The Death of the Old Year

Full knee-deep lies the winter snow,

And the winter winds are wearily sighing;

Toll ye the church-bell sad and slow,

And tread softly and speak low,

For the old year lies a-dying.

Old year, you must not die;

You came to us so readily,

You lived with us so steadily,

Old year, you shall not die.

He lieth still, he doth not move;

He will not see the dawn of day.

He hath no other life above.

He gave me a friend, and a true true-love,

And the New-year will take ’em away.

Old year, you must not go;

So long as you have been with us,

Such joy as you have seen with us,

Old year, you shall not go.

He froth’d his bumpers to the brim;

A jollier year we shall not see.

But tho’ his eyes are waxing dim,

And tho’ his foes speak ill of him,

He was a friend to me.

Old year, you shall not die;

We did so laugh and cry with you,

I’ve half a mind to die with you,

Old year, if you must die.

He was full of joke and jest,

But all his merry quips are o’er.

To see him die, across the waste

His son and heir doth ride post-haste,

But he’ll be dead before.

Every one for his own.

The night is starry and cold, my friend,

And the New-year blithe and bold, my friend,

Comes up to take his own.

How hard he breathes! over the snow

I heard just now the crowing cock.

The shadows flicker to and fro;

The cricket chirps; the light burns low;

’Tis nearly twelve o’clock.

Shake hands, before you die.

Old year, we’ll dearly rue for you.

What is it we can do for you?

Speak out before you die.

His face is growing sharp and thin.

Alack! our friend is gone.

Close up his eyes; tie up his chin;

Step from the corpse, and let him in

That standeth there alone,

And waiteth at the door.

There’s a new foot on the floor, my friend,

And a new face at the door, my friend,

A new face at the door.

22
The Deserted House

Life and Thought have gone away

Side by side,

Leaving door and windows wide;

Careless tenants they!

All within is dark as night:

In the windows is no light;

And no murmur at the door,

So frequent on its hinge before.

Close the door, the shutters close,

Or thro’ the windows we shall see

The nakedness and vacancy

Of the dark deserted house.

Come away; no more of mirth

Is here or merry-making sound.

The house was builded of the earth,

And shall fall again to ground.

Come away; for Life and Thought

Here no longer dwell,

But in a city glorious

A great and distant city have bought

A mansion incorruptible.

Would they could have stayed with us!

23
The Dying Swan

The plain was grassy, wild and bare,

Wide, wild, and open to the air,

Which had built up everywhere

An under-roof of doleful gray.

With an inner voice the river ran,

Adown it floated a dying swan,

And loudly did lament.

It was the middle of the day.

Ever the weary wind went on,

And took the reed-tops as it went.

Some blue peaks in the distance rose,

And white against the cold-white sky,

Shone out their crowning snows.

One willow over the river wept,

And shook the wave as the wind did sigh;

Above in the wind was the swallow,

Chasing itself at its own wild will,

And far thro’ the marish green and still

The tangled water-courses slept,

Shot over with purple, and green, and yellow.

The wild swan’s death-hymn took the soul

Of that waste place with joy

Hidden in sorrow: at first to the ear

The warble was low, and full and clear;

And floating about the under-sky,

Prevailing in weakness, the coronach stole

Sometimes afar, and sometimes anear;

But anon her awful jubilant voice,

With a music strange and manifold,

Flow’d forth on a carol free and bold;

As when a mighty people rejoice

With shawms, and with cymbals, and harps of gold,

And the tumult of their acclaim is roll’d

Thro’ the open gates of the city afar,

To the shepherd who watcheth the evening star.

And the creeping mosses and clambering weeds,

And the willow-branches hoar and dank,

And the wavy swell of the soughing reeds,

And the wave-worn horns of the echoing bank,

And the silvery marish-flowers that throng

The desolate creeks and pools among,

Were flooded over with eddying song.

24
Early Spring

Once more the Heavenly Power

Makes all things new,

And domes the red-plow’d hills

With loving blue;

The blackbirds have their wills,

The throstles too.

Opens a door in heaven;

From skies of glass

A Jacob’s ladder falls

On greening grass,

And o’er the mountain-walls

Young angels pass.

Before them fleets the shower,

And burst the buds,

And shine the level lands,

And flash the floods;

The stars are from their hands

Flung thro’ the woods,

The woods with living airs

How softly fann’d,

Light airs from where the deep,

All down the sand,

Is breathing in his sleep,

Heard by the land.

O, follow, leaping blood,

The season’s lure!

O heart, look down and up

Serene, secure,

Warm as the crocus cup,

Like snowdrops, pure!

Past, Future glimpse and fade

Thro’ some slight spell,

A gleam from yonder vale,

Some far blue fell,

And sympathies, how frail,

In sound and smell!

Till at thy chuckled note,

Thou twinkling bird,

The fairy fancies range,

And, lightly stirr’d,

Ring little bells of change

From word to word.

For now the Heavenly Power

Makes all things new,

And thaws the cold, and fills

The flower with dew;

The blackbirds have their wills,

The poets too.

25
England and America in 1782

O thou that sendest out the man

To rule by land and sea,

Strong mother of a Lion-line,

Be proud of those strong sons of thine

Who wrench’d their rights from thee!

What wonder if in noble heat

Those men thine arms withstood,

Retaught the lesson thou hadst taught,

And in thy spirit with thee fought

Who sprang from English blood!

But thou rejoice with liberal joy,

Lift up thy rocky face,

And shatter, when the storms are black,

In many a streaming torrent back,

The seas that shock thy base!

Whatever harmonies of law

The growing world assume,

Thy work is thine the single note

From that deep chord which Hampden smote

Will vibrate to the doom.

26
Far–far–away

(For Music)

What sight so lured him thro’ the fields he knew

As where earth’s green stole into heaven’s own hue,

Far–far–away?

What sound was dearest in his native dells?

The mellow lin-lan-lone of evening bells

Far–far–away.

What vague world-whisper, mystic pain or joy,

Thro’ those three words would haunt him when a boy,

Far–far–away?

A whisper from his dawn of life? a breath

From some fair dawn beyond the doors of death

Far–far–away?

Far, far, how far? from o’er the gates of Birth,

The faint horizons, all the bounds of earth,

Far–far–away?

What charm in words, a charm no words could give?

O dying words, can Music make you live

Far–far–away?

27
Flower in the Crannied Wall

Flower in the crannied wall,

I pluck you out of the crannies,

I hold you here, root and all, in my hand,

Little flower—but if I could understand

What you are, root and all, and all in all,

I should know what God and man is.

28
The May Queen

You must wake and call me early, call me early, mother dear;

To-morrow ‘ill be the happiest time of all the glad New-year;

Of all the glad New-year, mother, the maddest merriest day,

For I’m to be Queen o’ the May, mother, I’m to be Queen o’ the May.

There’s many a black, black eye, they say, but none so bright as mine;

There’s Margaret and Mary, there’s Kate and Caroline;

But none so fair as little Alice in all the land they say,

So I’m to be Queen o’ the May, mother, I’m to be Queen o’ the May.

I sleep so sound all night, mother, that I shall never wake,

If you do not call me loud when the day begins to break;

But I must gather knots of flowers, and buds and garlands gay,

For I’m to be Queen o’ the May, mother, I’m to be Queen o’ the May.

As I came up the valley whom think ye should I see

But Robin leaning on the bridge beneath the hazel-tree?

He thought of that sharp look, mother, I gave him yesterday,

But I’m to be Queen o’ the May, mother, I’m to be Queen o’ the May.

He thought I was a ghost, mother, for I was all in white,

And I ran by him without speaking, like a flash of light.

They call me cruel-hearted, but I care not what they say,

For I’m to be Queen o’ the May, mother, I’m to be Queen o’ the May.

They say he’s dying all for love, but that can never be;

They say his heart is breaking, mother—what is that to me?

There’s many a bolder lad ‘ill woo me any summer day,

And I’m to be Queen o’ the May, mother, I’m to be Queen o’ the May.

Little Effie shall go with me to-morrow to the green,

And you’ll be there, too, mother, to see me made the Queen;

For the shepherd lads on every side ‘ill come from far away,

And I’m to be Queen o’ the May, mother, I’m to be Queen o’ the May.

The honeysuckle round the porch has woven its wavy bowers,

And by the meadow-trenches blow the faint sweet cuckoo-flowers;

And the wild marsh-marigold shines like fire in swamps and hollows gray,

And I’m to be Queen o’ the May, mother, I’m to be Queen o’ the May.

The night-winds come and go, mother, upon the meadow-grass,

And the happy stars above them seem to brighten as they pass;

There will not be a drop of rain the whole of the livelong day,

And I’m to be Queen o’ the May, mother, I’m to be Queen o’ the May.

All the valley, mother, ‘ill be fresh and green and still,

And the cowslip and the crowfoot are over all the hill,

And the rivulet in the flowery dale ‘ill merrily glance and play,

For I’m to be Queen o’ the May, mother, I’m to be Queen o’ the May.

So you must wake and call me early, call me early, mother dear,

To-morrow ‘ill be the happiest time of all the glad New-year;

To-morrow ‘ill be of all the year the maddest merriest day,

For I’m to be Queen o’ the May, mother, I’m to be Queen o’ the May.

29
The Poet’s Song

The rain had fallen, the Poet arose,

He pass’d by the town and out of the street;

A light wind blew from the gates of the sun,

And waves of shadow went over the wheat;

And he sat him down in a lonely place,

And chanted a melody loud and sweet,

That made the wild-swan pause in her cloud,

And the lark drop down at his feet.

The swallow stopt as he hunted the fly,

The snake slipt under a spray,

The wild hawk stood with the down on his beak,

And stared, with his foot on the prey;

And the nightingale thought, ‘I have sung many songs,

But never a one so gay,

For he sings of what the world will be

When the years have died away.’

30
The Tears Of Heaven

Heaven weeps above the earth all night till morn,

In darkness weeps as all ashamed to weep,

Because the earth hath made her state forlorn

With self-wrought evil of unnumbered years,

And doth the fruit of her dishonor reap.

And all the day heaven gathers back her tears

Into her own blue eyes so clear and deep,

And showering down the glory of lightsome day,

Smiles on the earth’s worn brow to win her if she may.

31
Will

O well for him whose will is strong!

He suffers, but he will not suffer long;

He suffers, but he cannot suffer wrong:

For him nor moves the loud world’s random mock,

Nor all Calamity’s hugest waves confound,

Who seems a promontory of rock,

That, compass’d round with turbulent sound,

In middle ocean meets the surging shock,

Tempest-buffeted, citadel-crown’d.

But ill for him who, bettering not with time,

Corrupts the strength of heaven-descended Will,

And ever weaker grows thro’ acted crime,

Or seeming-genial venial fault,

Recurring and suggesting still!

He seems as one whose footsteps halt,

Toiling in immeasurable sand,

And o’er a weary sultry land,

Far beneath a blazing vault,

Sown in a wrinkle of the monstrous hill,

The city sparkles like a grain of salt.

32
The Throstle

“Summer is coming, summer is coming,

I know it, I know it, I know it.

Light again, leaf again, love again.”

Yes, my wild little poet.

Sing the new year in under the blue,

Last year you sang it as gladly,

“New, new, new, new!” Is it then so new

That you should carol so madly?

“Love again, song again, nest again, young again,”

Never a prophet so crazy!

And hardly a daisy as yet, little friend,

See, there is hardly a daisy.

“Here again, here, here, here, happy year!”

O warble unchidden, unbidden!

Summer is coming, is coming, my dear.

And all the winters are hidden.

33
The City Child

Dainty little maiden, whither would you wander?

Whither from this pretty home, the home where mother dwells?

“Far and far away,” said the dainty little maiden,

“All among the gardens, auriculas, anemones,

Roses and lilies and Canterbury-bells.”

Dainty little maiden, whither would you wander?

Whither from this pretty house, this city-house of ours?

“Far and far away,” said the dainty little maiden

“All among the meadows, the clover and the clematis,

Daisies and kingcups and honeysuckle flowers.”

34
The Mermaid

Who would be

A mermaid fair,

Singing alone,

Combing her hair

Under the sea,

In a golden curl

With a comb of pearl,

On a throne?

I would be a mermaid fair;

I would sing to myself the whole of the day;

With a comb of pearl I would comb my hair;

And still as I comb’d I would sing and say,

‘Who is it loves me? who loves not me?’

I would comb my hair till my ringlets would fall

Low adown, low adown,

From under my starry sea-bud crown

Low adown and around,

And I should look like a fountain of gold

Springing alone

With a shrill inner sound

Over the throne

In the midst of the hall;

Till that great sea-snake under the sea

From his coiled sleeps in the central deeps

Would slowly trail himself sevenfold

Round the hall where I sate, and look in at the gate

With his large calm eyes for the love of me.

And all the mermen under the sea

Would feel their immortality

Die in their hearts for the love of me.

But at night I would wander away, away,

I would fling on each side my low-flowing locks,

And lightly vault from the throne and play

With the mermen in and out of the rocks;

We would run to and fro, and hide and seek,

On the broad sea-wolds in the crimson shells,

Whose silvery spikes are nighest the sea.

But if any came near I would call and shriek,

And adown the steep like a wave I would leap

From the diamond-ledges that jut from the dells;

For I would not be kiss’d by all who would list

Of the bold merry mermen under the sea.

They would sue me, and woo me, and flatter me,

In the purple twilights under the sea;

But the king of them all would carry me,

Woo me, and win me, and marry me,

In the branching jaspers under the sea.

Then all the dry-pied things that be

In the hueless mosses under the sea

Would curl round my silver feet silently,

All looking up for the love of me.

And if I should carol aloud, from aloft

All things that are forked, and horned, and soft

Would lean out from the hollow sphere of the sea,

All looking down for the love of me.

35
The Owl

When cats run home and light is come,

And dew is cold upon the ground,

And the far-off stream is dumb,

And the whirring sail goes round,

And the whirring sail goes round;

Alone and warming his five wits,

The white owl in the belfry sits.

When merry milkmaids click the latch,

And rarely smells the new-mown hay,

And the cock hath sung beneath the thatch

Twice or thrice his roundelay,

Twice or thrice his roundelay;

Alone and warming his five wits,

The white owl in the belfry sits.

36
The Brook

I come from haunts of coot and heron,

I make a sudden sally,

And sparkle out among the fern,

To bicker down a valley.

By thirty hills I hurry down,

Or slip between the ridges,

By twenty thorps, a little town,

And half a hundred bridges.

Till last by Philip’s farm I flow

To join the brimming river,

For men may come and men may go

But I go on forever.

I chatter over stony ways,

In little sharps and trebles,

I bubble into eddying bays,

I babble on the pebbles.

With many a curve my banks I fret,

By many a field and fallow,

And many a fairy foreland set

With willow-weed and mallow.

I chatter, chatter as I flow

To join the brimming river,

For men may come and men may go

But I go on forever.

I wind about, and in and out,

With here a blossom sailing,

And here and there a lusty trout,

And here and there a grayling.

And here and there a foamy flake

Upon me as I travel

With many a silver water-break

Above the golden gravel.

And draw them all along, and flow

To join the brimming river,

For men may come and men may go

But I go on forever.

I steal by lawns and grassy plots,

I slide by hazel covers;

I move the sweet forget-me-nots

That grow for happy lovers.

I slip, I slide, I gloom, I glance,

Among my skimming swallows;

I make the netted sunbeam dance

Against my sandy shallows.

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 forever.

37
The Shell

(from the longer work, “Maud”)

See what lovely shell,

Small and pure as a pearl,

Lying close to my foot,

Frail, but a work divine,
made so fairly well

With delicate spire and whorl,

How exquisitely minute,

A miracle of design!

What is it? a learned man

Could give it a clumsy name.

Let him name it who can,

The beauty would be the same.

The time cell is forlorn,

Void of the little living will

That made it stir on the shore.

Did he stand at the diamond door

Of his house in a rainbow frill?

Did he push, when he was uncurl’d

A golden foot or fairy horn

Thro’ his dim water-world?

Slith, to be crush’d with a tap

Of my finger-nail on the sand;

Small, but a work divine,

Frail, but of force to withstand,

Year upon year, the shock

Of cataract seas that snap

The three-decker’s oaken spine

Athwart the ledges of rock,

Here on the Breton strand!

38
Cradle Song

What does little birdie say

In her nest at peep of day?

Let me fly, says little birdie,

Mother, let me fly away.

Birdie, rest a little longer,

Till the little wings are stronger,

So she rests a little longer,

Then she flies away.

What does little baby say,

In her bed at peep of day?

Baby says, like little birdie,

Let me rise and fly away.

Baby, sleep a little longer,

Till the little limbs are stronger,

If she sleeps a little longer,

Baby too shall fly away.

39
Lady Clare

It was the time when lilies blow,

And clouds are highest up in air,

Lord Ronald brought a lily-white doe

To give his cousin, Lady Clare.

I trow they did not part in scorn—

Lovers long-betroth’d were they:

They too will wed the morrow morn:

God’s blessing on the day!

‘He does not love me for my birth,

Nor for my lands so broad and fair;

He loves me for my own true worth,

And that is well,’ said Lady Clare.

In there came old Alice the nurse,

Said, ‘Who was this that went from thee?’

‘It was my cousin,’ said Lady Clare,

‘To-morrow he weds with me.’

‘O God be thank’d!’ said Alice the nurse,

‘That all comes round so just and fair:

Lord Ronald is heir of all your lands,

And you are not the Lady Clare.’

‘Are ye out of your mind, my nurse, my nurse?’

Said Lady Clare, ‘that ye speak so wild?’

‘As God’s above,’ said Alice the nurse,

‘ I speak the truth: you are my child.

‘The old Earl’s daughter died at my breast;

I speak the truth, as I live by bread!

I buried her like my own sweet child,

And put my child in her stead.’

‘Falsely, falsely have ye done,

O mother,’ she said, ‘if this be true,

To keep the best man under the sun

So many years from his due.’

‘Nay now, my child,’ said Alice the nurse,

‘But keep the secret for your life,

And all you have will be Lord Ronald’s,

When you are man and wife.’

‘If I’m a beggar born,’ she said,

‘I will speak out, for I dare not lie.

Pull off, pull off, the brooch of gold,

And fling the diamond necklace by.’

‘Nay now, my child,’ said Alice the nurse,

‘But keep the secret all ye can.’

She said, ‘Not so: but I will know

If there be any faith in man.’

‘Nay now, what faith?’ said Alice the nurse,

‘The man will cleave unto his right.’

‘And he shall have it,’ the lady replied,

‘Tho’ I should die to-night.’

‘Yet give one kiss to your mother dear !

Alas, my child, I sinn’d for thee.’

‘O mother, mother, mother,’ she said,

‘So strange it seems to me.

‘Yet here’s a kiss for my mother dear,

My mother dear, if this be so,

And lay your hand upon my head,

And bless me, mother, ere I go.’

She clad herself in a russet gown,

She was no longer Lady Clare:

She went by dale, and she went by down,

With a single rose in her hair.

The lily-white doe Lord Ronald had brought

Leapt up from where she lay,

Dropt her head in the maiden’s hand,

And follow’d her all the way.

Down stept Lord Ronald from his tower:

‘O Lady Clare, you shame your worth!

Why come you drest like a village maid,

That are the flower of the earth?’

‘If I come drest like a village maid,

I am but as my fortunes are:

I am a beggar born,’ she said,

‘And not the Lady Clare.’

‘Play me no tricks,’ said Lord Ronald,

‘For I am yours in word and in deed.

Play me no tricks,’ said Lord Ronald,

‘Your riddle is hard to read.’

O and proudly stood she up!

Her heart within her did not fail:

She look’d into Lord Ronald’s eyes,

And told him all her nurse’s tale.

He laugh’d a laugh of merry scorn:

He turn’d and kiss’d her where she stood:

‘If you are not the heiress born,

And I,’ said he, ‘the next in blood —

‘If you are not the heiress born,

And I,’ said he, ‘the lawful heir,

We two will wed to-morrow morn,

And you shall still be Lady Clare.’

40
The Lady of Shalott

Part I

On either side the river lie

Long fields of barley and of rye,

That clothe the wold and meet the sky;

And thro’ the field the road runs by

To many-tower’d Camelot;

And up and down the people go,

Gazing where the lilies blow

Round an island there below,

The island of Shalott.

Willows whiten, aspens quiver,

Little breezes dusk and shiver

Thro’ the wave that runs for ever

By the island in the river

Flowing down to Camelot.

Four gray walls, and four gray towers,

Overlook a space of flowers,

And the silent isle imbowers

The Lady of Shalott.

By the margin, willow veil’d,

Slide the heavy barges trail’d

By slow horses; and unhail’d

The shallop flitteth silken-sail’d

Skimming down to Camelot:

But who hath seen her wave her hand?

Or at the casement seen her stand?

Or is she known in all the land,

The Lady of Shalott?

Only reapers, reaping early

In among the bearded barley,

Hear a song that echoes cheerly

From the river winding clearly,

Down to tower’d Camelot:

And by the moon the reaper weary,

Piling sheaves in uplands airy,

Listening, whispers “’Tis the fairy

Lady of Shalott.”

Part II

There she weaves by night and day

A magic web with colours gay.

She has heard a whisper say,

A curse is on her if she stay

To look down to Camelot.

She knows not what the curse may be,

And so she weaveth steadily,

And little other care hath she,

The Lady of Shalott.

And moving thro’ a mirror clear

That hangs before her all the year,

Shadows of the world appear.

There she sees the highway near

Winding down to Camelot:

There the river eddy whirls,

And there the surly village-churls,

And the red cloaks of market girls,

Pass onward from Shalott.

Sometimes a troop of damsels glad,

An abbot on an ambling pad,

Sometimes a curly shepherd-lad,

Or long-hair’d page in crimson clad,

Goes by to tower’d Camelot;

And sometimes thro’ the mirror blue

The knights come riding two and two:

She hath no loyal knight and true,

The Lady of Shalott.

But in her web she still delights

To weave the mirror’s magic sights,

For often thro’ the silent nights

A funeral, with plumes and lights

And music, went to Camelot:

Or when the moon was overhead,

Came two young lovers lately wed:

“I am half sick of shadows,” said

The Lady of Shalott.

Part III

A bow-shot from her bower-eaves,

He rode between the barley-sheaves,

The sun came dazzling thro’ the leaves,

And flamed upon the brazen greaves

Of bold Sir Lancelot.

A red-cross knight for ever kneel’d

To a lady in his shield,

That sparkled on the yellow field,

Beside remote Shalott.

The gemmy bridle glitter’d free,

Like to some branch of stars we see

Hung in the golden Galaxy.

The bridle bells rang merrily

As he rode down to Camelot:

And from his blazon’d baldric slung

A mighty silver bugle hung,

And as he rode his armour rung,

Beside remote Shalott.

All in the blue unclouded weather

Thick-jewell’d shone the saddle-leather,

The helmet and the helmet-feather

Burn’d like one burning flame together,

As he rode down to Camelot.

As often thro’ the purple night,

Below the starry clusters bright,

Some bearded meteor, trailing light,

Moves over still Shalott.

His broad clear brow in sunlight glow’d;

On burnish’d hooves his war-horse trode;

From underneath his helmet flow’d

His coal-black curls as on he rode,

As he rode down to Camelot.

From the bank and from the river

He flash’d into the crystal mirror,

“Tirra lirra,” by the river

Sang Sir Lancelot.

She left the web, she left the loom,

She made three paces thro’ the room,

She saw the water-lily bloom,

She saw the helmet and the plume,

She look’d down to Camelot.

Out flew the web and floated wide;

The mirror crack’d from side to side;

“The curse is come upon me,” cried

The Lady of Shalott.

Part IV

In the stormy east-wind straining,

The pale yellow woods were waning,

The broad stream in his banks complaining,

Heavily the low sky raining

Over tower’d Camelot;

Down she came and found a boat

Beneath a willow left afloat,

And round about the prow she wrote

The Lady of Shalott.

And down the river’s dim expanse

Like some bold seër in a trance,

Seeing all his own mischance—

With a glassy countenance

Did she look to Camelot.

And at the closing of the day

She loosed the chain, and down she lay;

The broad stream bore her far away,

The Lady of Shalott.

Lying, robed in snowy white

That loosely flew to left and right—

The leaves upon her falling light—

Thro’ the noises of the night

She floated down to Camelot:

And as the boat-head wound along

The willowy hills and fields among,

They heard her singing her last song,

The Lady of Shalott.

Heard a carol, mournful, holy,

Chanted loudly, chanted lowly,

Till her blood was frozen slowly,

And her eyes were darken’d wholly,

Turn’d to tower’d Camelot.

For ere she reach’d upon the tide

The first house by the water-side,

Singing in her song she died,

The Lady of Shalott.

Under tower and balcony,

By garden-wall and gallery,

A gleaming shape she floated by,

Dead-pale between the houses high,

Silent into Camelot.

Out upon the wharfs they came,

Knight and burgher, lord and dame,

And round the prow they read her name,

The Lady of Shalott.

Who is this? and what is here?

And in the lighted palace near

Died the sound of royal cheer;

And they cross’d themselves for fear,

All the knights at Camelot:

But Lancelot mused a little space;

He said, “She has a lovely face;

God in his mercy lend her grace,

The Lady of Shalott.”

Table of Contents

- 01 - Crossing the Bar
- 02 - The Eagle
- 03 - Strong Son of God, Immortal Love
- 04 - Ring Out, Wild Bells
- 05 - The Kraken
- 06 - The Sea-Fairies
- 07 - Break, Break, Break
- 08 - Charge of the Light Brigade
- 09 - The Oak
- 10 - In Memoriam, VII
- 11 - The Splendor Falls
- 12 - Tears, Idle Tears
- 13 - The Palace of Art
- 14 - Sweet and Low
- 15 - Ask Me No More
- 16 - The Flower
- 17 - A Farewell
- 18 - Of Old Sat Freedom
- 19 - The Blackbird
- 20 - Circumstance
- 21 - The Death of the Old Year
- 22 - The Deserted House
- 23 - The Dying Swan
- 24 - Early Spring
- 25 - England and America in 1782
- 26 - Far–far–away
- 27 - Flower in the Crannied Wall
- 28 - The May Queen
- 29 - The Poet's Song
- 30 - The Tears Of Heaven
- 31 - Will
- 32 - The Throstle
- 33 - The City Child
- 34 - The Mermaid
- 35 - The Owl
- 36 - The Brook
- 37 - The Shell
- 38 - Cradle Song
- 39 - Lady Clare
- 40 - The Lady of Shalott