The Works of Alfred Tennyson, Poet Laureate

He saw thro' life and death, thro' good Thus truth was multiplied on truth, the

The viewless arrows of his thoughts were When rites and forms before his burning

headed

And wing'd with flame,

eyes Melted like snow.

Like Indian reeds blown from his silver There was no blood upon her maiden robes

tongue,

And of so fierce a flight, From Calpe unto Caucasus they sung, Filling with light

And vagrant melodies the winds which bore

Them earthward till they lit ;

Sunn'd by those orient skies;

But round about the circles of the globes Of her keen eyes

And in her raiment's hem was traced in

flame

WISDOM, a name to shake

Then, like the arrow-seeds of the field All evil dreams of power-a sacred name.

flower,

And when she spake,

Her words did gather thunder as they ran,

And as the lightning to the thunder Which follows it, riving the spirit of man, Making earth wonder,

So was their meaning to her words. No sword

Of wrath her right arm whirl'd,

And bravely furnish'd all abroad to fling But one poor poet's scroll, and with his

The winged shafts of truth,

To throng with stately blooms the breath

ing spring

Of Hope and Youth.

So many minds did gird their orbs with beams,

Tho' one did fling the fire. Heaven flow'd upon the soul in many dreams

Of high desire.

word

She shook the world.

THE POET'S MIND.

VEX not thou the poet's mind

With thy shallow wit : Vex not thou the poet's mind;

For thou canst not fathom it.

In the heart of the garden the merry bird Down shower the gambolling waterfalls

chants,

From wandering over the lea:

It would fall to the ground if you came Out of the live-green heart of the dells

in.

In the middle leaps a fountain

Like sheet lightning,

Ever brightening

With a low melodious thunder; All day and all night it is ever drawn From the brain of the purple mountain Which stands in the distance yonder: It springs on a level of bowery lawn, And the mountain draws it from Heaven above,

And it sings a song of undying love; And yet, tho' its voice be so clear and full,

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,

You never would hear it; your ears are And the rainbow forms and flies on the

We will kiss sweet kisses, and speak sweet | Would they could have stayed with us!

words:

O listen, listen, your eyes shall glisten

With pleasure and love and jubilee :
O listen, listen, your eyes shall glisten

THE DYING SWAN.

When the sharp clear twang of the golden THE plain was grassy, wild and bare,

chords

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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.

II.

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.

III.

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

111.

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 Thou wilt never raise thine head

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 even

ing star.

Thou wilt not turn upon thy bed;
Chaunteth not the brooding bee
Sweeter tones than calumny?
Let them rave.

From the green that folds thy grave.
Let them rave.

IV.

Crocodiles wept tears for thee;

And the creeping mosses and clambering The woodbine and eglatere

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.

A DIRGE.

Now is done thy long day's work;
Fold thy palms across thy breast,
Fold thine arms, turn to thy rest.
Let them rave.

Shadows of the silver birk
Sweep the green that folds thy grave.
Let them rave.

II.

Thee nor carketh care nor slander;
Nothing but the small cold worm
Fretteth thine enshrouded form.
Let them rave.

Light and shadow ever wander
O'er the green that folds thy grave.
Let them rave.

Drip sweeter dews than traitor's tear.
Let them rave.

Rain makes music in the tree
O'er the green that folds thy grave.
Let them rave.

Round thee blow, self-pleached deep,
Bramble roses, faint and pale,
And long purples of the dale.
Let them rave.

These in every shower creep
Thro' the green that folds thy grave.
Let them rave.

VI.

The gold-eyed kingcups fine;
The frail bluebell peereth over
Rare broidry of the purple clover.
Let them rave.

Kings have no such couch as thine,
As the green that folds thy grave.
Let them rave.

VII.

Wild words wander here and there :
God's great gift of speech abused
Makes thy memory confused :
But let them rave.

The balm-cricket carols clear
In the green that folds thy grave.
Let them rave.

LOVE AND DEATH-THE BALLAD OF ORIANA.

LOVE AND DEATH.

Winds were blowing, waters flowing,
We heard the steeds to battle going,

Oriana ;

WHAT time the mighty moon was gather- Aloud the hollow bugle blowing,

ing light

Oriana.

Oriana,

Love paced the thymy plots of Paradise,
And all about him roll'd his lustrous eyes; In the yew-wood black as night,
When, turning round a cassia, full in view,
Death, walking all alone beneath a yew, Ere I rode into the fight,
And talking to himself, first met his sight :
'You must begone,' said Death, these
walks are mine.'

Love wept and spread his sheeny vans
for flight;

Yet ere he parted said, 'This hour is thine:

Thou art the shadow of life, and as the tree

Stands in the sun and shadows all beneath,

So in the light of great eternity

Life eminent creates the shade of death;
The shadow passeth when the tree shall

fall,

But I shall reign for ever over all.'

THE BALLAD OF ORIANA. My heart is wasted with my woe, Oriana.

There is no rest for me below,

Oriana.

When the long dun wolds are ribb'd with

snow,

Oriana,

While blissful tears blinded my sight
By star-shine and by moonlight,
Oriana,

I to thee my troth did plight,
Oriana.

She stood upon the castle wall,
Oriana :

She watch'd my crest among them all,
Oriana :

She saw me fight, she heard me call,
When forth there stept a foeman tall,
Oriana,

Atween me and the castle wall,
Oriana.

The bitter arrow went aside,
Oriana :
The false, false arrow went aside,
Oriana :

The damned arrow glanced aside,
And pierced thy heart, my love, my bride,
Oriana!

Thy heart, my life, my love, my bride,
Oriana !

And loud the Norland whirlwinds blow, Oh! narrow, narrow was the space,

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