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'The Gods! and if I go my work is left Unfinish'd if I go. The Gods, who haunt The lucid interspace of world and world, Where never creeps a cloud, or moves a wind,

Nor ever falls the least white star of snow,
Nor ever lowest roll of thunder moans,
Nor sound of human sorrow mounts to mar
Their sacred everlasting calm! and such,
Not all so fine, nor so divine a calm,
Not such, nor all unlike it, man may gain
Letting his own life go. The Gods, the
Gods!

III

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No madness of ambition, avarice, none;
No larger feast than under plane or pine
With neighbors laid along the grass, to
take

Only such cups as left us friendly-warm,
Affirming each his own philosophy
Nothing to mar the sober majesties
Of settled, sweet, Epicurean life.

But now it seems some unseen monster lays

His vast and filthy hands upon my will, 220
Wrenching it backward into his, and spoils
My bliss in being; and it was not great,
For save when shutting reasons up in
rhythm,

Or Heliconian honey in living words,
To make a truth less harsh, I often grew
Tired of so much within our little life,
Or of so little in our little life
Poor little life that toddles half an hour
Crown'd with a flower or two, and there an
end-

229

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Vanishing, atom and void, atom and void,
Into the unseen for ever, - till that hour,
My golden work in which I told a truth
That stays the rolling Ixionian wheel,
And numbs the Fury's ringlet-snake, and
plucks

260

The mortal soul from out immortal hell,
Shall stand. Ay, surely; then it fails at
last

And perishes as I must; for O Thou,
Passionless bride, divine Tranquillity,
Yearn'd after by the wisest of the wise,
Who fail to find thee, being as thou art
Without one pleasure and without one
pain,

Howbeit I know thou surely must be mine
Or soon or late, yet out of season, thus 270
I woo thee roughly, for thou carest not
How roughly men may woo thee so they

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THE WINDOW; OR, THE SONG OF THE WRENS

First printed in 1867 at the private press of Sir Ivor Bertie Guest, at Canford Manor, near Wimborne. Only a few copies were printed, and one is rarely found in the market. Reprinted, with variations in the text, and with music by Sir Arthur Sullivan, in December, 1870. edition had the following preface, which was retained in the edition of 1884, when the poems next appeared:

This

Four years ago Mr. Sullivan requested me to write a little song-cycle, German fashion, for him to exercise his art upon. He had been very successful in setting such old songs, as 'Orpheus with his lute,' and I drest up for him, partly in the old style, a puppet, whose almost only merit is, perhaps, that it can dance to Mr. Sullivan's instrument. I am sorry that my four-year-old puppet should have to dance at all in the dark shadow of these days; but the music is now completed, and I am bound by my promise.

December, 1870.

A. TENNYSON.

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