Tennyson

'A land of streams! Some like a downward smoke,Slow-dropping veils of thinnest lawn, did go.'

'Enormous elm-tree boles did stoop and leanUpon the dusky brushwood underneath,Their broad curved branches, fledged with clearest green,New from its silken sheath.'

'DaffodilsThat come before the swallow dares, and takeThe winds of March with beauty.'

'I saw, wherever light illumineth,Beauty and anguish walking hand in handThe downward slope to death.'

'Two parties still divide the world,Of those that want and those that have, and stillThe same old sore breaks out from age to ageWith much the same result';

'Nay, nay, you must not weep, nor let your grief be wild,You should not fret for me, mother, you have another child!

'It seemed so hard at first, mother, to leave the blessed sun,And now it seems so hard to stay, and yet His will be done!But still I think it can't be long before I find release;And that good man, the clergyman, has told me words of peace. . . .*******He taught me all the mercy, for he showed me all the sin,Now, tho' my lamp was lighted late, there 's One will let me in:Nor would I now be well, mother, again if that could be;Now my desire is but to pass to Him that died for me.'

'Whatever I have said or sung,Some bitter notes my harp would give,Yea, tho' there often seem'd to liveA contradiction on the tongue,

Yet Hope had never lost her youth;She did but look thro' dimmer eyes;Or Love but played with gracious lies,Because he felt so fixed in truth.'

'Are God and Nature then at strife,That Nature lends such evil dreams?So careful of the type she seems,So careless of the single life. . . .

'"So careful of the type"? But no,From scarped cliff and quarried stoneShe cries: "A thousand types are gone,I care for nothing, all shall go.

'"Thou makest thine appeal to me:I bring to life, I bring to death:The spirit does but mean the breath:I know no more."'

'Or something sealedThe lips of that Evangelist!'

'Mine the love that will not tire,And, born of love, the vague desireThat spurs an imitative will.'

'Those monstrous males that carve the living hound,And cram him with the fragments of the grave.'

'Saving I be joinedTo her that is the fairest under heaven,I seem as nothing in the mighty world,And cannot work my will, nor work my work,Wholly, or make myself in mine own realmVictor and lord.'

'We needs must love the highest when we see it,Not Lancelot nor another!'

'This author, with his charm of simple styleAnd close dialectic, all but proving manAn automatic series of sensations.Has often numb'd me into apathyAgainst the unpleasant jolts of this rough roadThat breaks off short into the abysses—made meA Quietist, taking all things easily.'

"We give you welcome—not without redoundOf use and glory to yourselves ye come,The firstfruits of the stranger—after-timeAnd that full voice which circles round the graveWill rank you nobly mingled up with me.'