the archivist December 30, 2021
Tennyson covered book on wooden surface near box

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.

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