File:Select poems of Alfred lord Tennyson (1885) (14596629798).jpg

Identifier: selectpoemsofalf01tenn (find matches)
Title: Select poems of Alfred lord Tennyson
Year: 1885 (1880s)
Authors: Tennyson, Alfred Tennyson, Baron, 1809-1892 Rolfe, W. J. (William James), 1827-1910, ed
Subjects:
Publisher: Boston, J. R. Osgood and company
Contributing Library: The Library of Congress
Digitizing Sponsor: Sloan Foundation

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s the driving hail. SIR GALAHAD. IS^ I leave the plain, I climb the height; No branchy thicket shelter yields :But blessed forms in whistling storms Fly oer waste fens and windy fields. 60 A maiden knight — to me is given Such hope, I know not fear;I yearn to breathe the airs of heaven That often meet me here.I muse on joy that will not cease, Pure spaces clothed in living beams.Pure lilies of eternal peace, Whose odors haunt my dreams;And, stricken by an angels hand, This mortal armor that I wear, 7° This weight and size, this heart and eyes, Are touchd, are turnd to finest air. The clouds are broken in the sky, And thro the mountain-wallsA rolling organ-harmony Swells up, and shakes and falls.Then move the trees, the copses nod, Wings flutter, voices hover clear:* O just and faithful knight of God ! Ride on ! the prize is near. 80 So pass I hostel, hall, and grange ; By bridge and ford, by park and pale,All-armd I ride, vvhateer betide, Until I find the Holy Grail. 132 THE BROOK.
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THE BROOK; AN IDYL. * Here, by this brook, we parted ; I to the EastAnd he for Italy — too late — too late :One whom the strong sons of the world despise;For lucky rhymes to him were scrip and share,And mellow metres more than cent for cent; THE BROOK. 133 Nor could he understand how money breeds,Thought it a dead thing ; yet himself could makeThe thing that is not as the thing that is. 0 had he lived! In our schoolbooks we say, Of those that held their heads above the crowd, lo They flourishd then or then ; but life in him Could scarce be said to flourish, only touchd On such a time as goes before the leaf. When all the wood stands in a mist of green, And nothing perfect: yet the brook he loved. For which, in branding summers of Bengal, Or even the sweet half-English Neilgherry air, 1 panted, seems, as I re-listen to it.Prattling the primrose fancies of the boy To me that loved him ; for O brook, he says, 20 O babbling brook, says Edmund in his rhyme, Whence come you? and the bro

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