Alfred, Lord Tennyson(1809–1892)
Sonnet 50: "Be near me when my light is low"
B e n e a r m e w h e n m y light i s low,
When the blood creeps, and the nerves prick
And tingle; and the heart is sick,
A n d all t h e w h e e l s o f B e i n g slow.
B e n e a r m e w h e n t h e s e n s u o u s f r a m e
Is racked w i t h p a n g s that c o n q u e r trust;
A n d T i m e , a m a n i a c s c a t t e r i n g dust,
A n d Life, a Fury s l i n g i n g f l a m e .
B e n e a r m e w h e n m y f a i t h i s dry,
And men the flies of latter spring,
T h a t lay t h e i r e g g s , a n d s t i n g a n d s i n g
A n d w e a v e t h e i r p e t t y c e l l s a n d d i e .
B e n e a r m e w h e n I f a d e a w a y ,
T o p o i n t t h e t e r m o f h u m a n strife,
A n d on t h e l o w d a r k v e r g e of life
T h e t w i l i g h t o f e t e r n a l day.