Lord Alfred Tennyson

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.

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 Queen, who sat
With lips severely placid felt the knot
Climb in her throat, and with read more

The Queen, who sat
With lips severely placid felt the knot
Climb in her throat, and with her feet unseen
Crushed the wild passion out against the floor.

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

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

Others' follies teach us not,
Nor much their wisdom teaches;
And most of sterling worth is what
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Others' follies teach us not,
Nor much their wisdom teaches;
And most of sterling worth is what
Our own experience preaches.