Volume Ii Part 92 (2/2)
She only said, ”The night is dreary, He cometh not,” she said; She said, ”I am aweary, aweary, I would that I were dead!”
Upon the middle of the night, Waking she heard the night-fowl crow: The c.o.c.k sung out an hour ere light: From the dark fen the oxen's low Came to her: without hope of change, In sleep she seemed to walk forlorn, Till cold winds woke the gray-eyed morn About the lonely moated grange.
She only said, ”The day is dreary, He cometh not,” she said; She said, ”I am aweary, aweary, I would that I were dead!”
About a stone-cast from the wall A sluice with blackened waters slept, And o'er it many, round and small, The cl.u.s.tered marish-mosses crept.
Hard by a poplar shook alway, All silver-green with gnarled bark: For leagues no other tree did mark The level waste, the rounding gray.
She only said, ”My life is dreary, He cometh not,” she said; She said, ”I am aweary, aweary, I would that I were dead!”
And ever when the moon was low, And the shrill winds were up and away, In the white curtain, to and fro, She saw the gusty shadow sway.
But when the moon was very low, And wild winds bound within their cell, The shadow of the poplar fell Upon her bed, across her brow.
She only said, ”The night is dreary He cometh not,” she said; She said, ”I am aweary, aweary, I would that I were dead!”
All day within the dreamy house, The doors upon their hinges creaked; The blue fly sung in the pane; the mouse Behind the moldering wainscot shrieked, Or from the crevice peered about.
Old faces glimmered through the doors, Old footsteps trod the upper floors, Old voices called her from without.
She only said, ”My life is dreary, He cometh not,” she said; She said, ”I am aweary, aweary, I would that I were dead!”
The sparrow's chirrup on the roof, The slow clock ticking, and the sound Which to the wooing wind aloof The poplar made, did all confound Her sense; but most she loathed the hour When the thick-moted sunbeam lay Athwart the chambers, and the day Was sloping toward his western bower.
Then, said she, ”I am very dreary, He will not come,” she said; She wept, ”I am aweary, aweary, O G.o.d, that I were dead!”
Alfred Tennyson [1809-1892]
”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 answered 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 sealed; I strove against the stream and all in vain; Let the great river take me to the main.
No more, dear love, for at a touch I yield; Ask me no more.
Alfred Tennyson [1809-1892]
A WOMAN'S LAST WORD
Let's contend no more, Love, Strive nor weep: All be as before, Love, --Only sleep!
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