And Ask Ye Why These Sad Tears Stream?

Alfred Lord Tennyson

'And ask ye why these sad tears stream?'

Te somnia nostra reducunt.

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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