Alfred, Lord Tennyson(1809–1892)
Tears, Idle Tears
Tears, idle tears, I k n o w n o t w h a t t h e y m e a n ,
T e a r s f r o m t h e d e p t h o f s o m e divine d e s p a i r
Rise i n t h e heart, a n d g a t h e r t o t h e e y e s ,
I n l o o k i n g o n t h e h a p p y A u t u m n - f i e l d s ,
A n d t h i n k i n g of t h e days that are no m o r e .
F r e s h as t h e first b e a m glittering on a sail,
That brings our friends up from the underworld,
Sad as the last which reddens over one
T h a t sinks w i t h all w e love b e l o w t h e verge;
So sad, so fresh, the days that are no more.
A h , sad a n d strange as in dark s u m m e r d a w n s
T h e earliest p i p e o f h a l f - a w a k e n e d birds
T o dying ears, w h e n u n t o dying e y e s
T h e c a s e m e n t s l o w l y grows a g l i m m e r i n g square;
So sad, so strange, t h e days t h a t are no m o r e .
D e a r a s r e m e m b e r e d kisses a f t e r d e a t h ,
And sweet as those by hopeless fancy feigned
On lips that are for others; deep as love,
D e e p as first love, a n d wild w i t h all regret;
O D e a t h in Life, t h e days that are no m o r e !