In Memoriam A. H. H. Obiit Mdcccxxxiii: Part 127

Alfred Lord Tennyson

And all is well, tho’ faith and form
  Be sunder’d in the night of fear;
  Well roars the storm to those that hear
A deeper voice across the storm,

Proclaiming social truth shall spread,
  And justice, ev’n tho’ thrice again
  The red fool-fury of the Seine
Should pile her barricades with dead.

But ill for him that wears a crown,
  And him, the lazar, in his rags:
  They tremble, the sustaining crags;
The spires of ice are toppled down,

And molten up, and roar in flood;
  The fortress crashes from on high,
  The brute earth lightens to the sky,
And the great on sinks in blood,

And compass’d by the fires of Hell;
  While thou, dear spirit, happy star,
  O’erlook’st the tumult from afar,
And smilest, knowing all is well.

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