||In Memoriam A. H. H. 116
||Alfred Lord Tennyson
|Alfred Tennyson (1809-1892), was not well received when he was alive but typically found greater favour when he was dead. Regarded as the chief representative of the Victorian age in poetry, he became Poet Laureate in 1850.
| Is it, then, regret for buried time
That keenlier in sweet April wakes,
And meets the year, and gives and takes
The colours of the crescent prime?
Not all: the songs, the stirring air,
The life re-orient out of dust,
Cry thro' the sense to hearten trust
In that which made the world so fair.
Not all regret: the face will shine
Upon me, while I muse alone;
And that dear voice, I once have known,
Still speak to me of me and mine:
Yet less of sorrow lives in me
For days of happy commune dead;
Less yearning for the friendship fled,
Than some strong bond which is to be.
The A.H.H. referred to in the poem is in memory of Tennyson's friend Arthur Henry Hallam, who was the son of the eminent historian.
Other poems by Alfred Tennyson