File:The poetic and dramatic works of Alfred lord Tennyson (1899) (14761559986).jpg

Identifier: poeticdramaticwo01tenn (find matches)
Title: The poetic and dramatic works of Alfred lord Tennyson
Year: 1899 (1890s)
Authors: Tennyson, Alfred Tennyson, Baron, 1809-1892
Subjects:
Publisher: Boston and New York, Houghton, Mifflin and company
Contributing Library: The Library of Congress
Digitizing Sponsor: The Library of Congress

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blind life within the brain,If, knowing God, they lift not hands of prayerBoth for themselves and those who call them friend ?For so the whole round earth is every wayBound by gold chains about the feet of God.But now farewell. I am going a long wayWith these thou seest — if indeed I go —For all my mind is clouded with a doubt —To the island-valley of Avilion; 310Where falls not hail, or rain, or any snow,Nor ever wind blows loudly, but it liesDeep-meadowd, happy, fair with or-chard lawnsAnd bowery hollows crownd with summer sea, MORTE DARTHUR 89 Where I will heal me of my grievouswound.So said he, and the barge with oarand sail Moved from the brink, like some full-breasted swan That, fluting a wild carol ere her death, Ruffles her pure cold plume, and takesthe flood With swarthy webs. Long stood SirBedivere 32o Revolving many memories, till the hull Lookd one black dot against the vergeof dawn, And on the mere the wailing died away. Here ended Hall, and our last light,that long
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■ And calld him by his name, complaininc loud,And dropping bitter tears against his browStriped with dark blood 9° ENGLISH IDYLS AND OTHER POEMS Had winkd aud threatened darkness, flared and fell ;At which the parson, sent to sleep with sound.And waked with silence, grunted 1 Good ! but weSat rapt: it was the tone with which he read —Perhaps some modern touches here and thereRedeemd it from the charge of no-thingness— 330Or else we loved the man, and prized his work;I know not; but we sitting, as I said,The cock crew loud, as at that time of yearThe lusty bird takes every hour for dawn.Then Francis, muttering, like a man ill-used,There now — thats nothing !drew a little back,And drove his heel into the smoulderd log,That sent a blast of sparkles up the flue.And so to bed, where yet in sleep I seemdTo sail with Arthur under looming shores, 340 Point after point; till on to dawn, when dreamsBegin to feel the truth and stir of day,To me, methought, who waited with the crowd,Ther

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