Page:Poems - Tennyson (1843) - Volume 2 of 2.djvu/132

 "Some turn this sickness yet might take, Ev'n yet." But he: "What drug can make A wither'd palsy cease to shake?"

I wept, "Tho' I should die, I know That all about the thorn will blow In tufts of rosy-tinted snow;

"And men, thro' novel spheres of thought Still moving after truth long sought, Will learn new things when I am not."

"Yet," said the secret voice, "some time, Sooner or later, will gray prime Make thy grass hoar with early rime.

"Not less swift souls that yearn for light, Rapt after heaven's starry flight, Would sweep the tracts of day and night.