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-awakened 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 remembered
kisses after death, |
And sweet as those by hopeless fancy
feigned |
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.
|
Alfred, Lord
Tennyson | Classic
Poems |
|
[ The Brook ] [ Blow, Bugle, Blow ] [ Come into the garden Maud ] [ Tithonus ] [ Ulysses ] [ Tears, Idle Tears ] [ The Lady of Shalott ] [ Song of the Lotus-Eaters ] [ The Charge of the Light Brigade ] [ In the Valley of Cauteretz ] [ In Memoriam ] [ The Eagle ] |