I entreat you, Alfred Tennyson,

Fashion and win their nursling with their smiles.But where the land is dim from tyranny,There tiny pleasures occupy the placeOf glories and of duties; as the feetOf fabled faeries when the sun goes downTrip o’er the grass where wrestlers strove by day.Then Justice, call’d the Eternal One above,Is more inconstant than the buoyant formThat burst…

Much rests with you that yet endears,Alas! but what with me?Could those bright years o’er me revolveSo gay, o’er you so fair,The pearl of life we would dissolveAnd each the cup might share.You show that truth can ne’er decay,Whatever fate befalls;I, that the myrtle and the bayShoot fresh on ruin’d walls.

Thou breathing dial! since thy day beganThe present hour was ever mark’d with shade!

Ianthe said, and look’d into my eyes.‘A yes, a yes to both: for MemoryWhere you but once have been must ever be,And at your voice Pride from his throne must rise.’

Of his strange language all I knowIs, there is not a word of fear.

I warm’d both hands before the fire of life;It sinks, and I am ready to depart.