. The poetic and dramatic works of Alfred lord Tennyson. hild, and wife, and slave ; but evermore 40 Most weary seemd the sea, weary the oar,Weary the wandering fields of barren some one said, We will return no more;And all at once they sang, Our island homeIs far beyond the wave; we will no longer roam. CHORIC SONG There is sweet music here that softer fallsThan petals from blown roses on the grass,Or night-dews on still waters between wallsOf shadowy granite, in a gleaming pass;Music that gentlier on the spirit lies,Ttran tired eyelids upon tired eyes;mtteic that brings sweet sleep
. The poetic and dramatic works of Alfred lord Tennyson. hild, and wife, and slave ; but evermore 40 Most weary seemd the sea, weary the oar,Weary the wandering fields of barren some one said, We will return no more;And all at once they sang, Our island homeIs far beyond the wave; we will no longer roam. CHORIC SONG There is sweet music here that softer fallsThan petals from blown roses on the grass,Or night-dews on still waters between wallsOf shadowy granite, in a gleaming pass;Music that gentlier on the spirit lies,Ttran tired eyelids upon tired eyes;mtteic that brings sweet sleep down from the blissful are cool mosses deep,And thro the moss the ivies creep,And in the stream the long-leaved flowers weep, 10 And from the craggy ledge the poppy hangs in sleep. 11 Why are we weighd upon with heavi-ness, And utterly consumed with sharp dis-tress, While all things else have rest fromweariness ? All things have rest: why should wetoil alone, We only toil, who are the first of things, And make perpetual moan, CHORIC SONG 67. O, rest ye, brother mariners, we will not wander more Still from one sorrow to another thrown;Nor ever fold our wings,And cease from wanderings, 20 Nor steep our brows in slumbers holy balm;Nor harken what the inner spirit sings, There is no joy but calm ! —Why should we only toil, the roof and crown of things ? inLo! in the middle of the wood,The folded leaf is wood from out thebud With winds upon the branch, and thereGrows green and broad, and takes no care,Sun-steepd at noon, and in the moonNightly dew-fed ; and turning yellowFalls, and floats adown the air. 31 Lo ! sweetend with the summer light,The full-juiced apple, waxing over-mellow,Drops in a silent autumn its allotted length of daysThe flower ripens in its place,Ripens and fades, and falls, and hath no toil,Fast-rooted in the fruitful soil. 68 THE LADY OF SHALOTT AND OTHER POEMS IV Hateful is the dark-blue sky,Vaulted oer the dark-blue sea. 40 Death is the
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