Lord Alfred Tennyson ( 10 of 98 )
Our echoes roll from soul to soul,
And grow for ever and for ever.
Blow, bugle, blow, read more
Our echoes roll from soul to soul,
And grow for ever and for ever.
Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying,
And answer, echoes, answer, dying, dying, dying.
And grasps the skirts of happy chance,
And breasts the blows of circumstance.
And grasps the skirts of happy chance,
And breasts the blows of circumstance.
And feet like sunny gems on an English green.
And feet like sunny gems on an English green.
The wild swan's death-hymn took the soul
Of that waste place with joy
Hidden in sorrow: at read more
The wild swan's death-hymn took the soul
Of that waste place with joy
Hidden in sorrow: at first to the ear
The warble was low, and full and clear.
The lights begin to twinkle from the rocks:
The long day wanes: the slow moon climbs: the deep
read more
The lights begin to twinkle from the rocks:
The long day wanes: the slow moon climbs: the deep
Moans round with many voices.
Our wills are ours, we know not how;
Our wills are ours, to make them thine.
Our wills are ours, we know not how;
Our wills are ours, to make them thine.
And oft I heard the tender dove
In firry woodlands making moan.
And oft I heard the tender dove
In firry woodlands making moan.
The sabbaths of Eternity.
One sabbath deep and wide.
The sabbaths of Eternity.
One sabbath deep and wide.
Then the face of night is fair in the dewy downs
And the shining daffodil dies.
Then the face of night is fair in the dewy downs
And the shining daffodil dies.
In that fierce light which beats upon a throne.
In that fierce light which beats upon a throne.
