Talking of Tennyson: Transience

5 11 2018
So runs my dream: but what am I?
An infant crying in the night:
An infant crying for the light:
And with no language but a cry.
(In Memorian A.H.H., 54)
And so I walk across the sites
Of past and present intertwined,
Caleidoscope of shapes and lines,
These labyrinths of shade and light.
.
These labyrinths of day and night,
These human passions carved in stone,
They laught at you before they´re gone
And burst and burn as they collide.
.
They burst and perish – ask not, why.
Scattered across the shingles ashore,
One may not ask nor hope for more.
Nor will, nor soul, nor mind survive.
.
The Sense is conceal´d. Behind the veil –
And what am I to disobey:
All of them, all, who dreamt and prayed,
They all have passed! And so will we…
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