Lord Alfred Tennyson

'Tis gone: a thousand such have slipt
Away from my embraces:
And fallen into the dusty crypt
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'Tis gone: a thousand such have slipt
Away from my embraces:
And fallen into the dusty crypt
Of darken'd forms and faces.

And ye talk together still,
In the language wherewith Spring
Letters cowslips on the hill.

And ye talk together still,
In the language wherewith Spring
Letters cowslips on the hill.

Their meetings made December June.
Their every parting was to die.

Their meetings made December June.
Their every parting was to die.

Look you! I myself am nearest to myself.

Look you! I myself am nearest to myself.

When a true genius appears in the world you may know him by this sign: that all the dunces are read more

When a true genius appears in the world you may know him by this sign: that all the dunces are in confederacy against him.