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In Memoriam A. H. H. OBIIT MDCCCXXXIII: Part 010 by Alfred Lord Tennyson


I hear the noise about thy keel;
  I hear the bell struck in the night:
  I see the cabin-window bright;
I see the sailor at the wheel.

Thou bring’st the sailor to his wife,
;;And travell’d men from foreign lands;
  And letters unto trembling hands;
And, thy dark freight, a vanish’d life.

So bring him: we have idle dreams:
;;This look of quiet flatters thus
;;Our home-bred fancies: O to us,
The fools of habit, sweeter seems

To rest beneath the clover sod,
;;That takes the sunshine and the rains,
;;Or where the kneeling hamlet drains
The chalice of the grapes of ***;

Than if with thee the roaring wells
;;Should gulf him fathom-deep in brine;
;;And hands so often clasp’d in mine,
Should toss with tangle and with shells.