Come 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 TennysonAll things are taken from us, and become Portions and parcels of the dreadful past.
Alfred Lord TennysonBreak, break, break, On thy cold gray stones, oh sea! And I would that my tongue could utter The thoughts that arise in me.
Alfred Lord Tennyson