Of old sat Freedom on the heights,
The thunders breaking at her feet:
Above her shook the starry lights:
She heard the torrents meet.
There in her place she did rejoice,
Self-gather'd in her prophet-mind,
But fragments of her mighty voice
Came rolling on the wind.
Then stept she down thro' town and field
To mingle with the human race,
And part by part to men reveal'd
The fullness of her face -
Grave mother of majestic works,
From her isle-alter gazing down,
Who, God-like, grasps the triple forks,
And, King-like, wears the crown:
Her open eyes desire the truth.
The wisdom of a thousand years
Is in them. May perpetual youth
Keep dry their light from tears;
That her fair form may stand and shine
Make bright our days and light our dreams,
Turning to scorn with lips divine
The falsehood of extremes!
It is a typical Lord Tennyyson' poem with perfect rhythm and rhyme!
Her open eyes desire the truth The wisdom of a thousand years. Beautiful lines. A masterpiece, pleasure to read.
This poem moves from line to line with such stately dignity- -the result of writing with rhythm and skill. Definitely a Tennyson piece of work.
Her open eyes desire the truth. Her open eyes desire the truth. Her open eyes desire the truth. Undone yet to fulfill her passion! Everything most easy to penetrate but truth the whole civilisation long... long... long.... miles away to attain yet. Simply we feel sorry nothing more!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
She did rejoice! ! Nice work.