Lord Alfred Tennyson

He clasps the crag with hooked hands;
Close to the sun in lonely lands,
Ring'd with the read more

He clasps the crag with hooked hands;
Close to the sun in lonely lands,
Ring'd with the azure world, he stands.
The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls:
He watches from his mountain walls,
And like a thunderbolt he falls.

Broad-based upon her people's will,
And compassed by the inviolate sea.

Broad-based upon her people's will,
And compassed by the inviolate sea.

He makes no friend who never made a foe.

He makes no friend who never made a foe.

And oft I heard the tender dove
In firry woodlands making moan.

And oft I heard the tender dove
In firry woodlands making moan.

I held it truth, with him who sings
To one clear harp in divers tones,
That men read more

I held it truth, with him who sings
To one clear harp in divers tones,
That men may rise on stepping stones
Or their dead selves to higher things.