Lord Alfred Tennyson

And by the meadow-trenches blow the faint sweet cuckoo-flowers.

And by the meadow-trenches blow the faint sweet cuckoo-flowers.

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.

A life of nothing's nothing worth,
From that first nothing ere his birth,
To that last nothing read more

A life of nothing's nothing worth,
From that first nothing ere his birth,
To that last nothing under earth.

Ours not to reason why Ours but to do and die.

Ours not to reason why Ours but to do and die.

This is truth the poet sings,
That a sorrow's crown of sorrows is remembering happier things.

This is truth the poet sings,
That a sorrow's crown of sorrows is remembering happier things.