Portrait of a Pensive Victorian

The rain had fallen, the Poet arose,

   He pass’d by the town and out of the street,

A light wind blew from the gates of the sun,

   And waves of shadow went over the wheat,

And he sat him down in a lonely place,

   And chanted a melody loud and sweet,

That made the wild-swan pause in her cloud,

   And the lark drop down at his feet.

 

                                           TennysonImage

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