Lord Alfred Tennyson

The net is not spread for the hawk or the kite.

The net is not spread for the hawk or the kite.

And oft I heard the tender dove
In firry woodlands making moan.

And oft I heard the tender dove
In firry woodlands making moan.

The slow, sweet hours that bring us all things good.

The slow, sweet hours that bring us all things good.

And from his ashes may be made
The violet of his native land.

And from his ashes may be made
The violet of his native land.

And so the Word had breath, and wrought
With human hands the creed of creeds
In loveliness read more

And so the Word had breath, and wrought
With human hands the creed of creeds
In loveliness of perfect deeds,
More strong than all poetic thoughts;
Which he may read that binds the sheaf,
Or builds the house, or digs the grave,
And those wild eyes that watch the waves
In roarings round the coral reef.