by- Alfred Lord Tennysin(1809-1892)
Tears, idles tears, I know not what they mean,,
Teras from the depth of some divine despair,
Rise in the heartr and gather to the eyes,
In the looking on the happy antumn –fields
And thinking of the days that are no more
Fresh as the first beam glittering on a sail,
That bring our last friendship for the underworld,
Sad as the last which redden over one,
That skins with all we love below the verge,
So sad, so fresh, the day that are no more,
Ah, sad and strange as in dark summer dawns,
The earliest pipe of halt-awakened birds,
To dying ears, when unto dying eyes,
The casement slowly grows a glimmering square,
So sad, so strange, the days that are no more.
xoxoxoxo
