I envy not in any moods 
The captive void of noble rage,
The linnet born within the cage,
That never knew the summer woods:
I envy not the beast that takes
His license in the field of time,
Unfetter'd by the sense of crime,
To whom a conscience never wakes;
Nor, what may count itself as blest,
The heart that never plighted troth
But stagnates in the weeds of sloth;
Nor any want-begotten rest.

I hold it true, whate'er befall;
I feel it, when I sorrow most;
'Tis better to have loved and lost
Than never to have loved at all.

Added: Mar 11 2005 | Viewed: 558 times | Comments (0)

Poet: Alfred Lord Tennyson
Poem: In Memoriam A. H. H.: 16. I Envy not in any Moods

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