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Barbara Guest

 

When i was young my mother, who was no way professed to be literary, was much attached to poetry.... She had a good memory and was fond of quoting poetry. Some days, all days, I would hear her recite poems that I now know were from The Oxford Book of English Verse -- I have a copy on my self. She liked Tennyson, and I can still hear the line "The splendour falls on castle walls and snowy summits old in story." I am quoting directly from her voice.

 

 

          Blow, Bugle, Blows

          By Alfred, Lord Tennyson

        

        The splendour falls on castle walls

          And the snowy summits old in story:

        The long light shakes across the lakes,

          And the wild cataract leaps in glory.

      Blow, bugle, blow, set wild echoes flying,

      Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying.

 

        O hark, O hear! how thin and clear,

          And thinner, clearer, father going!

        O sweet and far from cliff and scar

          The horns of Elfland faintly blowing!

      Blow, let us hear the purple glens replying:

      Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying.

 

        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 for ever and for ever.

      Blow, bugle, blow, set wild echoes flying,

      And answer, echoes, answer, dying, dying, dying.

 

 

 

 

 

          

 

      

 

 

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