Lord Alfred Tennyson

I heard . . .
. . . the great echo flap
And buffet round the hills read more

I heard . . .
. . . the great echo flap
And buffet round the hills from bluff to bluff.

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

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

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

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

And o'er the hills and far away,
Beyond their utmost purple rim,
Beyond the night, across the read more

And o'er the hills and far away,
Beyond their utmost purple rim,
Beyond the night, across the day,
Thro' all the world she followed him.

Better not to be at all
Than not to be noble.

Better not to be at all
Than not to be noble.