by Alfred Tennyson, Lord (1809 - 1892)
Old Yew, which graspest at the stones
Language: English
Old Yew, which graspest at the stones That name the under-lying dead, Thy fibres net the dreamless head, Thy roots are wrapt about the bones. The seasons bring the flower again, And bring the firstling to the flock; And in the dusk of thee, the clock Beats out the little lives of men. O not for thee the glow, the bloom, Who changest not in any gale, Nor branding summer suns avail To touch thy thousand years of gloom: And gazing on thee, sullen tree, Sick for thy stubborn hardihood, I seem to fail from out my blood And grow incorporate into thee.
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Authorship:
- by Alfred Tennyson, Lord (1809 - 1892), no title, appears in In Memoriam A. H. H. obiit MDCCCXXXIII, no. 2 [author's text checked 1 time against a primary source]
Musical settings (art songs, Lieder, mélodies, (etc.), choral pieces, and other vocal works set to this text), listed by composer (not necessarily exhaustive):
- by Humphrey Procter-Gregg (1895 - 1980), "Old Yew" [ voice and piano ] [sung text not yet checked]
Researcher for this page: Mike Pearson
This text was added to the website: 2016-06-13
Line count: 16
Word count: 103