Lord Alfred Tennyson ( 10 of 98 )
So much to do, so little done, such things to be.
So much to do, so little done, such things to be.
And feet like sunny gems on an English green.
And feet like sunny gems on an English green.
The lights begin to twinkle from the rocks:
The long day wanes: the slow moon climbs: the deep
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The lights begin to twinkle from the rocks:
The long day wanes: the slow moon climbs: the deep
Moans round with many voices.
Our echoes roll from soul to soul,
And grow for ever and for ever.
Blow, bugle, blow, read more
Our echoes roll from soul to soul,
And grow for ever and for ever.
Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying,
And answer, echoes, answer, dying, dying, dying.
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.
We issued gorged with knowledge, and I spoke:
"Why, Sirs, they do all this as well as we."
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We issued gorged with knowledge, and I spoke:
"Why, Sirs, they do all this as well as we."
"They hunt old trails" said Cyril, "very well;
But when did woman ever yet invent?"
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.
Darker than darkest pansies.
Darker than darkest pansies.
Till last by Philip's farm I flowTo join the brimming river,For men may come and men may go,But I go read more
Till last by Philip's farm I flowTo join the brimming river,For men may come and men may go,But I go on for ever. - The Brook.
And oft I heard the tender dove
In firry woodlands making moan.
And oft I heard the tender dove
In firry woodlands making moan.
