Lord Alfred Tennyson

But over all things brooding slept
The quiet sense of something lost.

But over all things brooding slept
The quiet sense of something lost.

She only said, My life is dreary,
He cometh not, she said;
She said I am aweary, read more

She only said, My life is dreary,
He cometh not, she said;
She said I am aweary, aweary,
Oh God, that I were dead.

This is the reward of my folly.

This is the reward of my folly.

And a million horrible bellowing echoes broke
From the red-ribb'd hollow behind the wood,
And thunder'd up read more

And a million horrible bellowing echoes broke
From the red-ribb'd hollow behind the wood,
And thunder'd up into Heaven.

Not perfect, nay, but full of tender wants.

Not perfect, nay, but full of tender wants.