Alfred Lord Tennyson

I
Half a league, half a league,
Half a league onward,
All in the valley of Death

There is a sound of thunder afar,
Storm in the south that darkens the day,
Storm of battle and thunder of war,
Well, if it do not roll our way

Come not, when I am dead,
To drop thy foolish tears upon my grave,
To trample round my fallen head,
And vex the unhappy dust thou wouldst not save

'There sinks the nebulous star we call the Sun,
If that hypothesis of theirs be sound'Said Ida; 'let us down and rest;' and
Down from the lean and wrinkled precipices,
By every coppice-feathered chasm and cleft,

Sunset and evening star,
And one clear call for me!
And may there be no moaning of the bar,
When I put out to sea,

Now, scarce three paces measured from the mound,
We stumbled on a stationary voice,
And 'Stand, who goes
'  'Two from the palace' I

The sun, the moon, the stars, the seas, the hills and the plains,-Are not these,
O Soul, the Vision of Him who reigns
Is not the Vision He, tho' He be not that which He seems
Dreams are true while they last, and do we not live in dr...

Flow down, cold rivulet, to the sea, Thy tribute wave deliver:
No more by thee my steps shall be, For ever and for ever
Flow, softly flow, by lawn and lea, A rivulet then a river:
Nowhere by thee my steps shall be For ever and for e...

O that 'twere possible After long grief and pain To find the arms of my true love Round me once again
When I was wont to meet her In the silent woody places By the home that gave me birth, We stood tranced in long embraces Mixt with kisses sw...

Part I
On either side the river lie
Long fields of barley and of rye,
That clothe the wold and meet the sky;

So closed our tale, of which I give you
The random scheme as wildly as it rose:
The words are mostly mine; for when we
There came a minute's pause, and Walter said,'I wish she had not yielded

Comrades, leave me here a little, while as yet 't is early morn:
Leave me here, and when you want me, sound upon the bugle-horn.
'T is the place, and all around it, as of old, the curlews call,
Dreary gleams about the moorland flyin...