. The poetic and dramatic works of Alfred lord Tennyson. HALL Woman is the lesser man, and all thypassions, matchd with mine, Are as moonlight unto sunlight, andas water unto wine — Here at least, where nature sickens,nothing. Ah, for some retreat Deep in yonder shining Orient, wheremy life began to beat, Where in wild Mahratta-battle fellmy father evil-starrd ; — I was left a trampled orphan, and aselfish uncles ward. Or to burst all links of habit — there to wander far away,On from island unto island at the gateways of the day. Larger constellations burning, mellowmoons and happy skies, Brea
. The poetic and dramatic works of Alfred lord Tennyson. HALL Woman is the lesser man, and all thypassions, matchd with mine, Are as moonlight unto sunlight, andas water unto wine — Here at least, where nature sickens,nothing. Ah, for some retreat Deep in yonder shining Orient, wheremy life began to beat, Where in wild Mahratta-battle fellmy father evil-starrd ; — I was left a trampled orphan, and aselfish uncles ward. Or to burst all links of habit — there to wander far away,On from island unto island at the gateways of the day. Larger constellations burning, mellowmoons and happy skies, Breadths of tropic shade and palms incluster, knots of Paradise. 160 Never comes the trader, never floats an European flag,Slides the bird oer lustrous woodland, swings the trailer from the crag ; Droops the heavy blossomd bower,hangs the heavy-fruited tree — Summer isles of Eden lying in dark-purple spheres of sea. There methinks would be enjoymentmore than in this march of mind, In the steamship, in the railway, in thethoughts that shake Baby lips will laugh me down ; my latest rival brings thee fingers, waxen touches, press me from the mothers breast 126 ENGLISH IDYLS AND OTHER POEMS / There the passions crampd no longershall have scope and breathingspace; I will take some savage woman, sheshall rear my dusky race. Iron-jointed, supple-sinewd, they shalldive, and they shall run, Catch the wild goat by the hair, andhurl their lances in the sun; 170 Whistle back the parrots call, and leapthe rainbows of the brooks, Not with blinded eyesight poring overmiserable books — - Fool, again the dream, the fancy! butI know my words are wild, But I count the gray barbarian lowerthan the Christian child. I, to herd with narrow foreheads,vacant of our glorious gains, Like a beast with lower pleasures, likea beast with lower pains! Mated with a squalid savage — whatto me were sun or clime ? I the heir of all the ages, in the fore-most files of time — I that ra
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