![Tennyson covered book on wooden surface near box](https://i0.wp.com/polyarchive.com/wp-content/uploads/2021/12/ih2kgjkekqk.jpg?fit=1600%2C1068&ssl=1)
In Memoriam A. H. H. OBIT MDCCCXXXIII: 15
Alfred, Lord Tennyson
To-night the winds begin to rise
And roar from yonder dropping day:
The last red leaf is whirl’d away,
The rooks are blown about the skies;
The forest crack’d, the waters curl’d,
The cattle huddled on the lea;
And wildly dash’d on tower and tree
The sunbeam strikes along the world:
And but for fancies, which aver
That all thy motions gently pass
Athwart a plane of molten glass,
I scarce could brook the strain and stir
That makes the barren branches loud;
And but for fear it is not so,
The wild unrest that lives in woe
Would dote and pore on yonder cloud
That rises upward always higher,
And onward drags a labouring breast,
And topples round the dreary west,
A looming bastion fringed with fire.
![](https://i0.wp.com/polyarchive.com/wp-content/uploads/2021/12/71y48SfWDhL._SL1500_.jpg?resize=184%2C300&ssl=1)
You must be logged in to post a comment.