If any vision should reveal
      Thy likeness, I might count it vain
      As but the canker of the brain;
Yea, tho' it spake and made appeal

To chances where our lots were cast
      Together in the days behind,
      I might but say, I hear a wind
Of memory murmuring the past.

Yea, tho' it spake and bared to view
      A fact within the coming year;
      And tho' the months, revolving near,
Should prove the phantom-warning true,

They might not seem thy prophecies,
      But spiritual presentiments,
      And such refraction of events
As often rises ere they rise.

Victorian Website Overview Alfred Lord Tennyson In Memoriam Leading Questions next

Last modified 16 February 2010