The Death of Œnone, and Other Poems

To the Master of Balliol

Alfred Tennyson


I

DEAR MASTER in our classic town,
You, loved by all the younger gown
            There at Balliol,
Lay your Plato for one minute down,

II

And read a Grecian tale re-told,
Which, cast in later Grecian mould,
            Quintus Calaber
Somewhat lazily handled of old;

III

And on this white midwinter day—
For have the far-off hymns of May,
            All her melodies,
All her harmonies echo’d away?—

IV

To-day, before you turn again
To thoughts that lift the soul of men,
            Hear my cataract’s
Downward thunder in hollow and glen,

V

Till, led by dream and vague desire,
The woman, gliding toward the pyre,
            Find her warrior
Stark and dark in his funeral fire.


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