Three Poems by Alfred Tennyson

Song Cycle by Klaus Miehling

1. Come not, when I am dead [sung text not yet checked]

Come not, when I am dead,
To drop thy foolish tears upon my grave,
To trample [round]1 my fallen head,
And vex the unhappy dust thou wouldst not save.
There let the wind sweep and the plover cry;
But thou, go by.

Child, if it were thine error or thy crime
I care no longer, being all unblest:
Wed whom thou wilt, but I am sick of Time,
And I desire to rest.
Pass on, weak heart, and leave me where I lie:
Go by, go by.

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1 Rogers: "on"

Researcher for this text: Sharon Krebs [Guest Editor]

2. Every day hath its night [sung text not yet checked]

I
Every day hath its night:
    Every night its morn:
Through dark and bright
    Wingèd hours are borne;
        Ah! welaway!
Seasons flower and fade;
    Golden calm and storm
        Mingle day by day.
    There is no bright form
Doth not cast a shade —
        Ah! welaway!

II
When we laugh, and our mirth
    Apes the happy vein,
We're so kin to earth
    Pleasuance fathers pain —
        Ah! welaway!
Madness laugheth loud:
    Laughter bringeth tears:
        Eyes are worn away
    Till the end of fears
Cometh in the shroud,
        Ah! welaway!

III
All is change, woe or weal;
    Joy is sorrow's brother;
Grief and sadness steal
    Symbols of each other;
        Ah! welaway!
Larks in heaven's cope
    Sing: the culvers mourn
        All the livelong day.
    Be not all forlorn;
Let us weep in hope —
        Ah! welaway!

Authorship:

Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]

3. ͑οι ͑ρέοντες [sung text not yet checked]

I
All thoughts, all creeds, all dreams are true,
    All visions wild and strange;
Man is the measure of all truth
    Unto himself. All truth is change:
All men do walk in sleep, and all
    Have faith in that they dream:
For all things are as they seem to all,
    And all things flow like a stream.

II
There is no rest, no calm, no pause,
    Nor good nor ill, nor light nor shade,
Nor essence nor eternal laws:
    For nothing is, but all is made,
But if I dream that all these are,
    They are to me for that I dream;
For all things are as they seem to all,
    And all things flow like a stream.

Authorship:

Argal. — This very opinion is only true relatively to the flowing philosophers. (Tennyson's note.)

Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]
Total word count: 338