VII "ASK ME NO MORE" From The Princess Ask me no more: the moon may draw the sea; The cloud may stoop from heaven and take the shape With fold to fold, of mountain or of cape; But O too fond, when have I answer'd thee? Ask me no more. Ask me no more: what answer should I give? I love not hollow cheek or faded eye: Yet, O my friend, I will not have thee die! Ask me no more, lest I should bid thee live; Ask me no more. Ask me no more: thy fate and mine are seal 1850. Ask me no more. Lord Tennyson 66 THE SPLENDOR FALLS ON CASTLE WALLS" From The Princess THE splendor falls on castle walls O hark! O hear! how thin and clear, The horns of Elfland faintly blowing! O love, they die in yon rich sky, They faint on hill or field or river; And grow forever and forever. Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying, 12 dying. 1850. 18 Lord Tennyson. XXII "COME INTO THE GARDEN, MAUD" From Maud 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, To faint in the light of the sun she loves, All night have the roses heard The flute, violin, bassoon; All night has the casement jessamine stirr'd Till a silence fell with the waking bird, I said to the lily, "There is but one, With whom she has heart to be gay. When will the dancers leave her alone? She is weary of dance and play." Now half to the setting moon are gone, And half to the rising day; . Low on the sand and loud on the stone The last wheel echoes away. I said to the rose, 66 The brief night goes In babble and revel and wine. O young lord-lover, what sighs are those, For one that will never be thine? But mine, but mine," so I sware to the rose, "For ever and ever, mine." And the soul of the rose went into my blood, As the music clash'd in the Hall; And long by the garden lake I stood, For I heard your rivulet fall From the lake to the meadow and on to the wood, Our wood, that is dearer than all; 26 33 38 From the meadow your walks have left so sweet That whenever a March-wind sighs He sets the jewel-print of your feet In violets blue as your eyes, To the woody hollows in which we meet 44 The slender acacia would not shake One long milk-bloom on the tree; The lilies and roses were all awake, Queen rose of the rosebud garden of girls, Shine out, little head, sunning over with curls. There has fallen a splendid tear She is coming, my life, my fate. The red rose cries, "She is near, she is near; She is coming, my own, my sweet; Would start and tremble under her feet, 58 1855. Lord Tennyso |