Tears.idle tears,i know what they mean,

tears from the depth of some divine despair

rise in the heart,and gather to the eyes,

in looking on the happy autumn-fields,

and thinking of the days that are nomore.

 

 Fresh as the first beam glittering on a sail,

that brings our friends up from the underworld,

sad as the last which raddens over one

that sinks with all we love below the verge;

so sad,so fresh,the days that are no more.

 

 Ah,sad and strange as in dark summer dawns

the earliest pipe of half-awakened birds

to dying ears,when unto dying eyes

the casement slowly grows a glimmering square;

so sad and strange,the days that are no more.

 

 Dear as remmemberd kisses after death,

and sweet as those by hopeless fancy feigned

on lips that are for others;deep as love,

deep as first love,and wild with all regret;

O death in life,the days that are no more!

Alfred,Lord Tennyson

 Go to fullsize image

نوشته شده در پنجشنبه ۱٤ آبان ۱۳۸۸ساعت ۱۱:۳۳ ‎ق.ظ توسط پویان نظرات ()