<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=341661" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>In Memoriam A. H. H.: 118. Contemplate all this work of Tim</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Contemplate all this work of Time,<br> The giant labouring in his youth;<br> Nor dream of human love and truth,<br> As dying Nature's earth and lime;<br> But trust that those we call the dead<br> Are breathers of an ampler day<br> For ever nobler ends. They say,<br> The solid earth whereon we tread<br> In tracts of fluent heat began,<br> And grew to seeming-random forms,<br> The seeming prey of cyclic storms,<br> Till at the last arose the man;</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Who throve and branch'd from clime to clime,<br> The herald of a higher race,<br> And of himself in higher place,<br> If so he type this work of time</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Within himself, from more to more;<br> Or, crown'd with attributes of woe<br> Like glories, move his course, and show<br> That life is not as idle ore,</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> But iron dug from central gloom,<br> And heated hot with burning fears,<br> And dipt in baths of hissing tears,<br> And batter'd with the shocks of doom</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> To shape and use. Arise and fly<br> The reeling Faun, the sensual feast;<br> Move upward, working out the beast,<br> And let the ape and tiger die.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Alfred+Lord+Tennyson">Alfred Lord Tennyson</a><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=341661" data-title="In Memoriam A. H. H.: 118. Contemplate all this work of Tim de Alfred Lord Tennyson" data-description="Contemplate all this work of Time, The giant labouring in his youth; Nor dream of human love and truth, As dying Nature's earth and lime; But trust that those we call the dead Are breathers of an ampler day For ever nobler ends. They say, T..."></div> </div> </div>

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