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Sad Tears

Alfred Tennyson

Te somnia nostra reducunt. -- Ovid.

 

And ask ye why these sad tears stream?
Why these wan eyes are dim with weeping?
I had a dreama lovely dream,
Of her that in the grave is sleeping.

I saw her as twas yesterday,
The bloom upon her cheek still glowing;
And round her playd a golden ray,
And on her brows were gay flowers blowing.

With angel-hand she swept a lyre,
A garland red with roses bound it;
Its strings were wreathd with lambent fire,
And amaranth was woven round it.

I saw her mid the realms of light,
In everlasting radiance gleaming;
Co-equal with the seraphs bright,
Mid thousand thousand angels beaming.

I strove to reach her, when, behold,
Those fairy forms of bliss Elysian,
And all that rich scene wrapt in gold,
Faded in aira lovely vision!

And I awoke, but oh! to me
That waking hour was doubly weary;
And yet I could not envy thee,
Although so blest, and I so dreary.

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