Tears, idle tears, I know not 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 no more.
Fresh as the first beam glittering on a sail,
That brings our friends up from the underworld,
Sad as the last which reddens 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-awaken'd birds
To dying ears, when unto dying eyes
The casement slowly grows a summering square;
So sad, so strange, the days that are no more.
Dear as remember'd kisses after death,
And sweet as those by hopeless fancy feign'd
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!
More verses by Alfred Lord Tennyson
- In Memoriam A. H. H.: 6. One Writes, That Other Friends Rem
- In Memoriam A. H. H.: 44. How Fares It With The Happy Dead?
- The Princess (Part 1)
- In Memoriam A. H. H.: 82. I Wage Not Any Feud With Death
- In Memoriam A. H. H.: 121. Sad Hesper O'Er The Buried Sun