Tithonus The woods decay, the woods decay and fall, The vapours weep their burthen to the ground, Man comes and tills the field and lies beneath, And after many a summer dies the swan.
Me only cruel immortality Consumes; I wither slowly in thine arms, Here at the quiet limit of the world, A white-hair'd shadow roaming like a dream The ever-silent spaces of the East, Far-folded mists, and gleaming halls of morn. I ask'd thee, "Give me immortality. But thy strong Hours indignant work'd their wills, And beat me down and marr'd and wasted me, And tho' they could not end me, left me maim'd To dwell in presence of immortal youth, Immortal age beside immortal youth, And all I was in ashes.
Can thy love Thy beauty, make amends, tho' even now, Close over us, the silver star, thy guide, Shines in those tremulous eyes that fill with tears To hear me? Let me go: take back thy gift: Why should a man desire in any way To vary from the kindly race of men, Or pass beyond the goal of ordinance Where all should pause, as is most meet for all? A soft air fans the cloud apart; there comes A glimpse of that dark world where I was born. Once more the old mysterious glimmer steals From any pure brows, and from thy shoulders pure, And bosom beating with a heart renew'd.
Thy cheek begins to redden thro' the gloom, Thy sweet eyes brighten slowly close to mine, Ere yet they blind the stars, and the wild team Which love thee, yearning for thy yoke, arise, And shake the darkness from their loosen'd manes, And beat the twilight into flakes of fire. Why wilt thou ever scare me with thy tears, And make me tremble lest a saying learnt, In days far-off, on that dark earth, be true?
Crossing the Bar | poem by Tennyson | pruchakcacumcurr.cf
Yet hold me not for ever in thine East; How can my nature longer mix with thine? Coldly thy rosy shadows bathe me, cold Are all thy lights, and cold my wrinkled feet Upon thy glimmering thresholds, when the steam Floats up from those dim fields about the homes Of happy men that have the power to die, And grassy barrows of the happier dead. Release me, and restore me to the ground; Thou seest all things, thou wilt see my grave: Thou wilt renew thy beauty morn by morn; I earth in earth forget these empty courts, And thee returning on thy silver wheels.
Academy of American Poets Educator Newsletter. Teach This Poem.
Crossing the Bar (Woodward, Herbert Hall)
Follow Us. Not though We gathered in a field southwest of town, several hundred hauling coolers and folding chairs along a gravel road dry in August, two ruts of soft dust that soaked into our clothes and rose in plumes behind us. By noon we could discern their massive coils emerging I like the lady horses best, how they make it all look easy, like running 40 miles per hour is as fun as taking a nap, or grass. I like their lady horse swagger, after winning.
On the Charts
I'm not fond of the Romantics nor Modernity. TheDesertSage - 'Sunset and evening star' The day of old age 'and one clear call out for me! He was a great writer.
I wish he meant all of this when he wrote this. Ira Choudhary - You analysis is much appreciated. Nassy Fesharaki - Lovely I prefer reading the rhymed poems that make the work more difficult but I do not follow the same when I write I enjoyed this.
In the News
Martin Muthee - Nice poem wow wow, this is great! Fervency Osagie - Beautiful. This is my best of Tennyson.
Muma Alain - The reason why I started writing poetry The sun and the moon may go blank, Make your ever going brook dry, Your words go for ever and top rank, Thus all your hopes thrive never belie So your footprints live for ages, Ever green in my heart you live, Those sacred words of the golden pages Your memories lofty new thoughts give. I fear forgetfulness Oh! Lord Tennyson!
And so your name I gave my elder son. It's often used at memorkal services. It's on a card I picked up recently at a Greek Orthodox funeral.