In Memoriam

Alfred Tennyson
But there is more than I can see, And what I see I leave unsaid, Nor speak it, knowing Death has made His darkness beautiful with thee.
My paths are in the fields I know. And thine in undiscover’d lands.
Reklam
So runs my dream: but what am I? An infant crying in the night: An infant crying for the light: And with no language but a cry.
But who shall so forecast the years And find in loss a gain to match? Or reach a hand thro’ time to catch The far- off interest of tears?
And in my heart, if calm at all If any calm, a calm despair
Reklam
V
In words, like weeds, I'll wrap me o'er, Like coarsest clothes against the cold: But that large grief which these enfold Is given in outline and no more.
‘ Tis better to have loved and lost, Than never to have loved at all-
As parting with a long embrace She enters other realms of love
Reklam
“To shape and use. Arise and fly The reeling Faun, the sensual feast; Move upward, working out the beast, And let the ape and tiger die.”
VI
That loss is common would not make My own less bitter, rather more