THE splendor falls on castle walls Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying; O hark! O hear! how thin and clear, The horns of Elfland faintly blowing! Blow, let us hear the purple glens replying; O, love, they die in yon rich sky, They faint on hill or field or river Our echoes roll from soul to soul, And grow forever and forever. Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying, And answer, echoes, answer, dying, dying, dying. ALFRED TENNYSON. |