Make your own free website on Tripod.com

 

Home

Chronological
Index of
Tennyson's
Works

Timeline of
Tennyson's
Life

Links to
Other Tennyson
Sites

Sources/Info

Send Corrections,
Suggestions, or
Comments

 
In Memoriam A.H.H.

         
            LXXIII.
             
      So many worlds, so much to do,
          So little done, such things to be,
          How know I what had need of thee,
      For thou wert strong as thou wert true?

      The fame is quench’d that I foresaw,
          The head hath miss’d an earthly wreath:
          I curse not nature, no, nor death;
      For nothing is that errs from law.

      We pass; the path that each man trod
          Is dim, or will be dim, with weeds:
          What fame is left for human deeds
      In endless age? It rests with God.

      O hollow wraith of dying fame,
          Fade wholly, while the soul exults,
          And self-infolds the large results
      Of force that would have forged a name.
       


Printable Version
Next Section
In Memoriam A.H.H. Index
Home
Chronological Index of Tennyson's Works
Timeline of Tennyson's Life
Links to Other Tennyson Sites
Sources/Info
Send Corrections, Suggestions, or Comments