LORD TENNYSON

And crying, How changed from where it ran Thro' lands where not a leaf was dumb ; But all the lavish hills would hum

The murmur of a happy Pan :

When each by turns was guide to each, And Fancy light from Fancy caught, And Thought leapt out to wed with Thought

Ere Thought could wed itself with Speech ;

And all we met was fair and good,

And all was good that Time could bring, And all the secret of the Spring

Moved in the chambers of the blood ;

And many an old philosophy

On Argive heights divinely sang, And round us all the thicket rang

To many a flute of Arcady.

VII

How fares it with the happy dead?

For here the man is more and more ;

But he forgets the days before God shut the doorways of his head.

The days have vanish'd, tone and tint, And yet perhaps the hoarding sense Gives out at times (he knows not whence)

A little flash, a mystic hint ;

And in the long harmonious years

(If Death so taste Lethean springs) May some dim touch of earthly things

Surprise thee ranging with thy peers.

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