IN MEMORIAM. CVI. THE time admits not flowers or leaves The blast of North and East, and ice And bristles all the brakes and thorns Its leafless ribs and iron horns Together, in the drifts that pass, To darken on the rolling brine That breaks the coast. But fetch the wine, Arrange the board and brim the glass; In Memoriam. NON hora myrto, non violis sinit Horretque saltus spinifer, algidæ Sub falce lunæ; dum nemori imminet, Ferrata; nimbis prætereuntibus, Bring in great logs and let them lie, We keep the day with festal cheer, TENNYSON. Crateras ignis cor solidum, graves : Repone ramos. Jamque doloribus Loquare securus fugatis Quæ socio loquereris illo; Hunc dedicamus lætitiæ diem TEARS, IDLE TEARS. TEARS, idle tears, I know not what they mean, Tears from the depth of some divine despair Rise in the heart, and gather to the eyes, In looking on the happy Autumn-fields, And thinking of the days that are no more. . Fresh as the first beam glittering on a sail, That brings our friends up from the underworld, Sad as the last which reddens over one That sinks with all we love below the verge; So sad, so fresh, the days that are no more. Ah, sad and strange as in dark Summer dawns The earliest pipe of half-awaken'd birds To dying ears, when unto dying eyes The casement slowly grows a glimmering square; So sad, so strange, the days that are no more. TENNYSON. |