Alfred Lord Tennyson

(6 August 1809 – 6 October 1892 / Lincoln / England)

Home They Brought Her Warrior Dead


Home they brought her warrior dead:
She nor swooned, nor uttered cry:
All her maidens, watching, said,
‘She must weep or she will die.’

Then they praised him, soft and low,
Called him worthy to be loved,
Truest friend and noblest foe;
Yet she neither spoke nor moved.

Stole a maiden from her place,
Lightly to the warrior stepped,
Took the face-cloth from the face;
Yet she neither moved nor wept.

Rose a nurse of ninety years,
Set his child upon her knee—
Like summer tempest came her tears—
‘Sweet my child, I live for thee.’

Submitted: Thursday, January 01, 2004

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  • Sai Vijaya Mahalakshmi (1/14/2014 1:14:00 AM)

    a wonderful consoling. beautiful description. miracles will be done by elders actions. i fell on feet of tennyson if he alive. no words, tears closed my voice with deep tragedy.. (Report) Reply

  • Soubhik Roy (9/15/2013 3:58:00 AM)

    A touching poem with expression of emotion as well as the feeling of patriotism. (Report) Reply

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