In Memoriam

[Veshtrusja]

Lord Alfred Tennyson

"So careful of the type?" but no.
From scarped cliff and quarried stone
She cries: "A thousand types are gone;
I care for nothing all shall go.

* * * * *

[Shall] Man her last work, who seem'd so fair,
Such splendid purpose in his eyes,
Who rolled the psalm to wintry skies,
Who built him fanes of fruitless prayer,

Who trusted God was love indeed
And love Creation's final law--
Tho' Nature, red in tooth and claw
With ravine, shriek'd against his creed--

Who loved, who suffer'd countless ills,
Who battled for the True, the Just,
Be blown about the desert dust,
Or seal'd within the iron hills?

per ta lexuar komplet mund te klikoni ketu:
In Memoriam

[Veshtrusja]

Alfred Tennyson :

And statesmen at her council met
Who knew the seasons, when to take
Occasion by the hand, and make
The bounds of freedom wider yet.

A still small voice spake unto me,
“Thou art so full of misery,
Were it not better not to be?”


No life that breathes with human breath
Has ever truly longed for death.