Lord Alfred Tennyson

But over all things brooding slept
The quiet sense of something lost.

But over all things brooding slept
The quiet sense of something lost.

And statesmen at her council met
Who knew the seasons when to take
Occasion by the hand, read more

And statesmen at her council met
Who knew the seasons when to take
Occasion by the hand, and make
The bounds of freedom wider yet.

Our echoes roll from soul to soul,
And grow for ever and for ever.
Blow, bugle, blow, read more

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.

Then the face of night is fair in the dewy downs
And the shining daffodil dies.

Then the face of night is fair in the dewy downs
And the shining daffodil dies.

Mariana in the moated grange.

Mariana in the moated grange.