Lord Alfred Tennyson

He clasps the crag with hooked hands;
Close to the sun in lonely lands,
Ring'd with the read more

He clasps the crag with hooked hands;
Close to the sun in lonely lands,
Ring'd with the azure world, he stands.
The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls:
He watches from his mountain walls,
And like a thunderbolt he falls.

The net is not spread for the hawk or the kite.

The net is not spread for the hawk or the kite.

Shall eagles not be eagles? wrens be wrens?
If all the world were falcons, what of that?
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Shall eagles not be eagles? wrens be wrens?
If all the world were falcons, what of that?
The wonder of the eagle were the less,
But he not less the eagle.

For I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the
May.

For I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the
May.

Not perfect, nay, but full of tender wants.

Not perfect, nay, but full of tender wants.