Alfred Lord Tennyson (1809–92)

[Prologue]

I. (I held it truth, with him who sings)

II. (Old Yew, which graspest at the stones)

III. (O Sorrow, cruel fellowship)

IV. (To Sleep I give my powers away)

V. (I sometimes hold it half a sin)

VI. (One writes, that „Other friends remain,“)

VII. (Dark house, by which once more I stand)

VIII. (A happy lover who has come)

IX. (Fair ship, that from the Italian shore)

X. (I hear the noise about thy keel)

XI. (Calm is the morn without a sound)

XII. (Lo, as a dove when up she springs)

XIII. (Tears of the widower, when he sees)

XIV. (If one should bring me this report)

XV. (To-night the winds begin to rise)

XVI. (What words are these have fall’n from me?)

XVII. (Thou comest, much wept for: such a breeze)

XVIII. (’Tis well; ’tis something; we may stand)

XIX. (The Danube to the Severn gave)

XX. (The lesser griefs that may be said)

XXI. (I sing to him that rests below)

XXII. (The path by which we twain did go)

XXIII. (Now, sometimes in my sorrow shut)

XXIV. (And was the day of my delight)

XXV. (I know that this was Life, — the track)

XXVI. (Still onward winds the dreary way)

XXVII. (I envy not in any moods)

XXVIII. (The time draws near the birth of Christ)

XXIX. (With such compelling cause to grieve)

XXX. (With trembling fingers did we weave)

XXXI. (When Lazarus left his charnel-cave)

XXXII. (Her eyes are homes of silent prayer)

XXXIII. (O thou that after toil and storm)

XXXIV. (My own dim life should teach me this)

XXXV. (Yet if some voice that man could trust)

XXXVI. (Tho’ truths in manhood darkly join)

XXXVII. (Urania speaks with darken’d brow)

XXXVIII. (With weary steps I loiter on)

XXXIX. (Old warder of these buried bones)

XL. (Could we forget the widow’d hour)

XLI. (Thy spirit ere our fatal loss)

XLII. (I vex my heart with fancies dim)

XLIII. (If Sleep and Death be truly one)

XLIV. (How fares it with the happy dead?)

XLV. (The baby new to earth and sky)

XLVI. (We ranging down this lower track)

XLVII. (That each, who seems a separate whole)

XLVIII. (If these brief lays, of Sorrow born)

XLIX. (From art, from nature, from the schools)

L. (Be near me when my light is low)

LI. (Do we indeed desire the dead)

LII. (I cannot love thee as I ought)

LIII. (How many a father have I seen)

LIV. (Oh yet we trust that somehow good)

LV. (The wish, that of the living whole)

LVI. („So careful of the type?“ but no)

LVII. (Peace; come away: the song of woe)

LVIII. (In those sad words I took farewell)

LIX. (O Sorrow, wilt thou live with me)

LX. (He past; a soul of nobler tone)

LXI. (If, in thy second state sublime)

LXII. (Tho’ if an eye that’s downward cast)

LXIII. (Yet pity for a horse o’er-driven)

LXIV. (Dost thou look back on what hath been)

LXV. (Sweet soul, do with me as thou wilt)

LXVI. (You thought my heart too far diseased)

LXVII. (When on my bed the moonlight falls)

LXVIII. (When in the down I sink my head)

LXIX. (I dream’d there would be Spring no more)

LXX. (I cannot see the features right)

LXXI. (Sleep, kinsman thou to death and trance)

LXXII. (Risest thou thus, dim dawn, again)

LXXIII. (So many worlds, so much to do)

LXXIV. (As sometimes in a dead man’s face)

LXXV. (I leave thy praises unexpress’d)

LXXVI. (Take wings of fancy, and ascend)

LXXVII. (What hope is here for modern rhyme)

LXXVIII. (Again at Christmas did we weave)

LXXIX. („More than my brothers are to me,“)

LXXX. (If any vague desire should rise)

LXXXI. (Could I have said while he was here)

LXXXII. (I wage not any feud with Death)

LXXXIII. (Dip down upon the northern shore)

LXXXIV. (When I contemplate all alone)

LXXXV. (This truth came borne with bier and pall)

LXXXVI. (Sweet after showers, ambrosial air)

LXXXVII. (I past beside the reverend walls)

LXXXVIII. (Wild bird, whose warble, liquid sweet)

LXXXIX. (Witch-elms that counterchange the floor)

XC. (He tasted love with half his mind)

XCI. (When rosy plumelets tuft the larch)

XCII. (If any vision should reveal)

XCIII. (I shall not see thee. Dare I say)

XCIV. (How pure at heart and sound in head)

XCV. (By night we linger’d on the lawn)

XCVI. (You say, but with no touch of scorn)

XCVII. (My love has talk’d with rocks and trees)

XCVIII. (You leave us: you will see the Rhine)

XCIX. (Risest thou thus, dim dawn, again)

C. (I climb the hill: from end to end)

CI. (Unwatch’d, the garden bough shall sway)

CII. (We leave the well-beloved place)

CIII. (On that last night before we went)

CIV. (The time draws near the birth of Christ)

CV. (To-night ungather’d let us leave)

CVI. (Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky)

CVII. (It is the day when he was born)

CVIII. (I will not shut me from my kind)

CIX. (Heart-affluence in discursive talk)

CX. (Thy converse drew us with delight)

CXI. (The churl in spirit, up or down)

CXII. (High wisdom holds my wisdom less)

CXIII. (’Tis held that sorrow makes us wise)

CXIV. (Who loves not Knowledge? Who shall rail)

CXV. (Now fades the last long streak of snow)

CXVI. (Is it, then, regret for buried time)

CXVII. (O days and hours, your work is this)

CXVIII. (Contemplate all this work of Time)

CXIX. (Doors, where my heart was used to beat)

CXX. (I trust I have not wasted breath)

CXXI. (Sad Hesper o’er the buried sun)

CXXII. (Oh, wast thou with me, dearest, then)

CXXIII. (There rolls the deep where grew the tree)

CXXIV. (That which we dare invoke to bless)

CXXV. (Whatever I have said or sung)

CXXVI. (Love is and was my Lord and King)

CXXVII. (And all is well, tho’ faith and form)

CXXVIII. (The love that rose on stronger wings)

CXXIX. (Dear friend, far off, my lost desire)

CXXX. (Thy voice is on the rolling air)

CXXXI. (O living will that shalt endure)

[Epilogue]