O beauty, passing beauty! Sweetest sweet! How can thou let me waste my youth in sighs? I only ask to sit beside thy feet. Thou knowest I dare not look into thine eyes. Might I but kiss thy hand! I dare not fold My arms about thee--scarcely dare to speak. And nothing seems to me so wild and bold, As with one kiss to touch thy blessed cheek. Methinks if I should kiss thee, no control Within the thrilling brain could keep afloat The subtle spirit. Even while I spoke, The bare word "kiss" hath made my inner soul To tremble like a lute string, ere the note Hath melted in the silence that it broke
Return to the Alfred Lord Tennyson library , or . . . Read the next poem; Ode On The Death Of The Duke of Wellington