© 2018 by Samantha Mack

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Canto LXVI




You thought my heart too far diseased;    You wonder when my fancies play    To find me gay among the gay, Like one with any trifle pleased.


The shade by which my life was crost,    Which makes a desert in the mind,    Has made me kindly with my kind, And like to him whose sight is lost;


Whose feet are guided thro' the land,    Whose jest among his friends is free,    Who takes the children on his knee, And winds their curls about his hand:


He plays with threads, he beats his chair    For pastime, dreaming of the sky;    His inner day can never die, His night of loss is always there.


-Alfred Lord Tennyson, In Memoriam A. H. H., Canto LXVI