Page:Poems - Tennyson (1843) - Volume 1 of 2.djvu/232

 Grave mother of majestic works, From her isle-altar gazing down. Who, God-like, grasps the triple forks, And, King-like, wears the crown:

Her open eyes desire the truth. The wisdom of a thousand years Is in them. May perpetual youth Keep dry their light from tears;

That her fair form may stand and shine, Make bright our days and light our dreams, Turning to scorn with lips divine The falsehood of extremes!