. The poetic and dramatic works of Alfred lord Tennyson. TO H. R H. PRINCESS BEA-TRICE Two Suns of Love make day of hu-man life, Which else with all its pains, andgriefs, and deaths, Were utter darkness—one, the Sun of dawnThat brightens thro the Mothers tender eyes,And warms the childs awakening world — and oneThe later-rising Sun of spousal Love;Which from her household orbit draws the childTo move in other spheres. The Mo-ther weepsAt that white funeral of the single life,Her maiden daughters marriage ; and her tearsAre half of pleasure, half of pain — the childIs happy — even in leaving he
. The poetic and dramatic works of Alfred lord Tennyson. TO H. R H. PRINCESS BEA-TRICE Two Suns of Love make day of hu-man life, Which else with all its pains, andgriefs, and deaths, Were utter darkness—one, the Sun of dawnThat brightens thro the Mothers tender eyes,And warms the childs awakening world — and oneThe later-rising Sun of spousal Love;Which from her household orbit draws the childTo move in other spheres. The Mo-ther weepsAt that white funeral of the single life,Her maiden daughters marriage ; and her tearsAre half of pleasure, half of pain — the childIs happy — even in leaving her! but thou,True daughter, whose all-faithful, filial eyesHave seen the loneliness of earthly thrones,Wilt neither quit the widowd Crown, nor letThis later light of Love have risen in vain,But moving thro the Mothers home, betweenThe two that love thee, lead a summer life,Swayd by each Love, and swaying to each Love,Like some conjectured planet in mid heavenBetween two suns, and drawing down from bothThe light and genial warmth of double * Late, my grandson ! half the morning have I paced these sandy tracts LOCKSLEY HALL SIXTY YEARS AFTER, ETC. TO MY WIFE I DEDICATE THIS DRAMATIC MONOLOGUE AND THE POEMS WHICH FOLLOW LOCKSLEY HALL SIXTY YEARSAFTER Late, my grandson ! half the morninghave I paced these sandy tracts, Watchd again the hollow ridges roar-ing into cataracts, Wanderd back to living boyhoodwhile I heard the curlews call, I myself so close on death, and deathitself in Locksley Hall. So — your happy suit was blasted —she the faultless, the divine ; And you liken — boyish babble — thisboy-love of yours with mine. I myself have often babbled doubtless of a foolish past;Babble, babble ; our old England may go down in babble at last. Curse him ! curse your fellow-vic-tim? call him dotard in yourrage ? Eyes that lured a doting boyhood wellmight fool a dotards age. 10 Jilted for a wealthier ! wealthier ? yetperhaps she was not wise ; I remember how you ki
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