Lord Alfred Tennyson

Dear as remember'd kisses after death, And sweet as those by hopeless fancy feign'd On lips that are for others; deep as love,- Deep as first love, and wild with all regret. Oh death in life, the days that are no more!

Dowered with the hate of hate, the scorn of scorn, The love of love.

Faultily faultless, icily regular, splendidly null.

For it was in the golden prime Of good Haroun Alraschid.

For men at most differ as Heaven and Earth, But women, worst and best, as Heaven and Hell.

For men may come and men may go, But I go on forever.

For now the poet cannot die, Nor leave his music as of old, But round him ere he scarce be cold Begins the scandal and the cry.

For this is England's greatest son, He that gain'd a hundred fights, And never lost an English gun.

God gives us love. Something to love He lends us; but when love is grown To ripeness, that on which it throve Falls off, and love is left alone.

He will hold thee, when his passion shall have spent its novel force, Something better than his dog, a little dearer than his horse.