Lord Alfred Tennyson

And grasps the skirts of happy chance,
And breasts the blows of circumstance.

And grasps the skirts of happy chance,
And breasts the blows of circumstance.

I held it truth, with him who sings
To one clear harp in divers tones,
That men read more

I held it truth, with him who sings
To one clear harp in divers tones,
That men may rise on stepping stones
Or their dead selves to higher things.

I am myself a man, and nothing relating to men is a matter of
indifference to me.

I am myself a man, and nothing relating to men is a matter of
indifference to me.

Then the face of night is fair in the dewy downs
And the shining daffodil dies.

Then the face of night is fair in the dewy downs
And the shining daffodil dies.

And the stately ships go on
To their haven under the hill.

And the stately ships go on
To their haven under the hill.