Maxioms by Lord Alfred Tennyson
When rosy plumelets tuft the larch,
And rarely pipes the mounted thrush.
When rosy plumelets tuft the larch,
And rarely pipes the mounted thrush.
Ring out, will bells, to the wild sky,
The flying cloud, the frosty light.
Ring out, will bells, to the wild sky,
The flying cloud, the frosty light.
Our wills are ours, we know not how;
Our wills are ours, to make them thine.
Our wills are ours, we know not how;
Our wills are ours, to make them thine.
I do sing because I must,
And pipe but as the linnets sing.
I do sing because I must,
And pipe but as the linnets sing.
God's finger touched him, and he slept.
God's finger touched him, and he slept.
