For this alone on Death I wreak The wrath that garners in my heart: He put our lives so far apart We cannot hear each other speak.
Alfred Lord TennysonFor this is England's greatest son, He that gain'd a hundred fights, And never lost an English gun.
Alfred Lord TennysonCome into the garden, Maud, For the black bat, night, has flown Come into the garden, Maud, I am here at the gate alone: And the woodbine spices are wafted abroad, And the musk of the rose is blown. For a breeze of morning moves, And the planet of Love is on high, Beginning to faint in the light that she loves On a bed of daffodil sky.
Alfred Lord Tennyson