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

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Now Sleeps the Crimson Petal

Now sleeps the crimson petal, now the white;
Nor waves the cypress in the palace walk;
Nor winks the gold fin in the porphyry font;
The firefly wakens, waken thou with me.

Now droops the milk-white peacock like a ghost,
And like a ghost she glimmers on to me.

Now lies the Earth all Danae to the stars,
And all thy heart lies open unto me.

Now slides the silent meteor on, and leaves
A shining furrow, as thy thoughts, in me.

Now folds the lily all her sweetness up,
And slips into the bosom of the lake.
So fold thyself, my dearest, thou, and slip
Into my bosom and be lost in me.

Submitted: Thursday, January 01, 2004


Read poems about / on: lost, heart, sleep, star

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  • Will Barber (2/27/2007 4:29:00 AM)

    Tennyson is neglected in our age - perhaps due to the amount of rubbish he produced - but his best verse is surpassingly fine. Part of his 'unfashionable' quality is his genuine sentimentality, not to be confused with emotionalism. Poetry is meant to move the reader (and the writer) , and Tennyson excelled at this.

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