Tears, Idle Tears
Alfred Lord Tennyson
1809 to 1892
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Tears, idle tears, I know not what they mean,
from the depth of some divine despair
Rise in heart, and gather to the eyes,
In looking on happy Autumn-fields,
And thinking of the days that are more.
Fresh as the first beam glittering on a sail,
That brings our friends up from the underworld,
Sad the last which reddens over one
That sinks with we love below the verge;
So sad, so fresh, days that are no more.
Ah, sad and strange in dark summer dawns
The earliest pipe of half-awaken'd
To dying ears, when unto dying eyes
The casement grows a glimmering square;
So sad, so strange, the that are no more.
Dear as remember'd kisses after death,
And sweet as those by hopeless fancy feign'd
On that are for others; deep as love,
Deep as love, and wild with all regret;
O Death in Life, the days that are no more.