Excerpt from Alfred Lord Tennyson, Vol. 1 of 4: A Memoir
Unpublished Sonnet
.
Old ghosts whose day was done ere mine began,
If earth be seen from your conjectured heaven,
Ye know that History is half-dream - ay even
The mans life in the letters of the man.
There lies the letter, but it is not he
As he retires into himself and is:
Sender and sent-to go to make up this,
Their offspring of this union. And on me
Frown not, old ghosts, if I be one of those
Who make you utter things you did not say,
And mould you all awry and mar your worth;
For whatsoever knows us truly, knows
That none can truly write his single day,
And none can write it for him upon earth.
"History is half-dream - ay even
The man's life in the letters of the man";
but besides the letters of my father and of his friends there are his poems, and in these we must look for the innermost sanctuary of his being.
Excerpt from Alfred Lord Tennyson, Vol. 1 of 4: A Memoir
Unpublished Sonnet
.
Old ghosts whose day was done ere mine began,
If earth be seen from your conjectured heaven,
Ye know that History is half-dream - ay even
The mans life in the letters of the man.
There lies the letter, but it is not he
As he retires into himself and is:
Sender and sent-to go to make up this,
Their offspring of this union. And on me
Frown not, old ghosts, if I be one of those
Who make you utter things you did not say,
And mould you all awry and mar your worth;
For whatsoever knows us truly, knows
That none can truly write his single day,
And none can write it for him upon earth.
"History is half-dream - ay even
The man's life in the letters of the man";
but besides the letters of my father and of his friends there are his poems, and in these we must look for the innermost sanctuary of his being.