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Classic and Contemporary Poetry
DEATH OF TENNYSON, by CHARLES WHITWORTH WYNNE
First Line: Mourn, all ye nations, mourn! For he is dead
Last Line: Who knew the tree, and gather'd of its fruit!
Alternate Author Name(s): Cayzer, Charles
Subject(s): Death; Tennyson, Alfred (1809-1892); Dead, The; Tennyson, Alfred Tennyson, 1st Baron
First Line: Mourn, all ye nations, mourn! For he is dead
Last Line: Who knew the tree, and gather'd of its fruit!
Alternate Author Name(s): Cayzer, Charles
Subject(s): Death; Tennyson, Alfred (1809-1892); Dead, The; Tennyson, Alfred Tennyson, 1st Baron
MOURN, all ye Nations, mourn! for he is dead—
The sweetest singer of our later choir,
Whose thoughts were borne aloft on wings of fire,
And Truth and Beauty left us in their stead.
The last of all our prophets now is fled:
Fled is the music of his magic lyre,
The melody of half a world's desire—
A gift of song for ever garneréd.
Sunrise and sunset shall go fleeting by,
And all the voice of Nature now be mute,
Since he who loved them leaves us but his lute,
With none the master of its minstrelsy.
Yet, in his life and death, what joy have we
Who knew the tree, and gather'd of its fruit!
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