Lord Alfred Tennyson

The wild swan's death-hymn took the soul
Of that waste place with joy
Hidden in sorrow: at read more

The wild swan's death-hymn took the soul
Of that waste place with joy
Hidden in sorrow: at first to the ear
The warble was low, and full and clear.

When his heart is glad
Of the full harvest, I will speak to him.

When his heart is glad
Of the full harvest, I will speak to him.

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

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

Treading softly like a thief,
Lest the harsh shingle should grate underfoot,
And feeling all along the read more

Treading softly like a thief,
Lest the harsh shingle should grate underfoot,
And feeling all along the garden wall.

If we cannot do what we want, we must do what we can.

If we cannot do what we want, we must do what we can.