In Memoriam, Maud and Other Poems

by Alfred Tennyson (Editor)

In Memoriam, Maud and Other Poems is a collection of poetry by Alfred Lord Tennyson, one of the most celebrated poets of the Victorian era. The book is divided into three parts, with the first part being the titular In Memoriam, a series of elegies written in memory of Tennyson's close friend Arthur Henry Hallam. The second part consists of the narrative poem Maud, which tells the story of a man's descent into madness after the death of his father and his subsequent love affair with a woman named Maud. The final part of the book includes a selection of Tennyson's shorter poems, including some of his most famous works such as ""The Charge of the Light Brigade"" and ""Crossing the Bar"". Throughout the collection, Tennyson explores themes of love, loss, grief, and the passage of time, all while showcasing his mastery of language and poetic form.Tennyson, was the poet of the Victorian age who succeeded Wordsworth as Poet Laureate. In Memoriam; Locksley Hall; Locksley Hall Sixty Years After; Maud; The Holy Grail; and Crossing the Bar. See other titles by this author available from Kessinger Publishing.This scarce antiquarian book is a facsimile reprint of the old original and may contain some imperfections such as library marks and notations. Because we believe this work is culturally important, we have made it available as part of our commitment for protecting, preserving, and promoting the world's literature in affordable, high quality, modern editions, that are true to their original work.

Genres: Poetry, Classics

239 pages, Paperback

First published January 1, 1896

About the author

Works, including In Memoriam in 1850 and "The Charge of the Light Brigade" in 1854, of Alfred Tennyson, first baron, known as lord, appointed British poet laureate in 1850, reflect Victorian sentiments and aesthetics.

Elizabeth Tennyson, wife, bore Alfred Tennyson, the fourth of twelve children, to George Tennyson, clergyman; he inevitably wrote his books. In 1816, parents sent Tennyson was sent to grammar school of Louth.

Alfred Tennyson disliked school so intensely that from 1820, home educated him. At the age of 18 years in 1827, Alfred joined his two brothers at Trinity College, Cambridge and with Charles Tennyson, his brother, published Poems by Two Brothers , his book, in the same year.

Alfred Tennyson published Poems Chiefly Lyrical , his second book, in 1830. In 1833, Arthur Henry Hallam, best friend of Tennyson, engaged to wed his sister, died, and thus inspired some best Ulysses and the Passing of Arthur .

Following William Wordsworth, Alfred Tennyson in 1850 married Emily Sellwood Tenyson, his childhood friend. She bore Hallam Tennyson in 1852 and Lionel Tennyson in 1854, two years later.

Alfred Tennyson continued throughout his life and in the 1870s also to write a number of plays.

In 1884, the queen raised Alfred Tennyson, a great favorite of Albert, prince, thereafter to the peerage of Aldworth. She granted such a high rank for solely literary distinction to this only Englishman.

Alfred Tennyson died at the age of 83 years, and people buried his body in abbey of Westminster.

Reviews

[Mel Bossa · Rating 5 out of 5]

exquisite. review to come.

[Ankita · Rating 4 out of 5]

Having read Tennyson's poem a few years back, I always wanted to read more of his work, and then I found this at a local bookstore and that too Everyman's edition!
Here's a stanza from Maud: A Monodrama,

PART III
VI
My life has crept so long on a broken wing
Thro' cells of madness, haunts of horror and fear,
That I come to be grateful at last for a little thing:
My mood is changed, for it fell at a time of year
When the face of night is fair on the dewy downs,
And the shining daffodil dies, and the Charioteer
And the starry Gemini hang like glorious crowns
Over Orion's grave low down in the west,
That like a silent lightning under the stars
She seemed to divide in a dream from a band of the blest,
And spoke of hope for the world in the coming wars-
'And in that hope, dear soul, let trouble have rest,
Knowing I tarry for thee,'and pointed to Mars
As he glowed like a ruddy shield on a Lion's breast.

I will recommend it to everyone who is into verses more, just like me.

[Sarah ~الدنيارة~ · Rating 5 out of 5]

I never read a more eloquently written poem than Maude, my body literally shivered!

[H]

V.

I sometimes hold it half a sin
To put in words the grief I feel:
For words, like Nature, half reveal
And half conceal the Soul within.

But, for the unquiet heart and brain,
A use in measured language lies;
The sad mechanic exercise,
Like dull narcotics, numbing pain.

In words, like weeds, I'll wrap me o'er,
Like coarsest clothes against the cold;
But that large grief which these enfold
Is given outline and no more.





XXXV.

Yet if some voice that man could trust
Should murmur from the narrow house,
‘The cheeks drop in; the body bows;
Man dies: nor is there hope in dust:’

Might I not say? ‘Yet even here,
But for one hour, O Love, I strive
To keep so sweet a thing alive:’
But I should turn mine ears and hear

The moanings of the homeless sea,
The sound of streams that swift or slow
Draw down Æonian hills, and sow
The dust of continents to be;

And Love would answer with a sigh,
‘The sound of that forgetful shore
Will change my sweetness more and more,
Half-dead to know that I shall die.’







L.

Be near me when my light is low,
When the blood creeps, and the nerves prick
And tingle; and the heart is sick,
And all the wheels of Being slow.

Be near me when the sensuous frame
Is rack’d with pangs that conquer trust;
And Time, a maniac scattering dust,
And Life, a Fury slinging flame.

Be near me when my faith is dry,
And men the flies of latter spring,
That lay their eggs, and sting and sing
And weave their petty cells and die.

Be near me when I fade away,
To point the term of human strife,
And on the low dark verge of life
The twilight of eternal day.

LI.

Do we indeed desire the dead
Should still be near us at our side?
Is there no baseness we would hide?
No inner vileness that we dread?

Shall he for whose applause I strove,
I had such reverence for his blame,
See with clear eye some hidden shame
And I be lessen’d in his love?

I wrong the grave with fears untrue:
Shall love be blamed for want of faith?
There must be wisdom with great Death:
The dead shall look me thro’ and thro’.

Be near us when we climb or fall:
Ye watch, like God, the rolling hours
With larger other eyes than ours,
To make allowance for us all.




LXXVII.

What hope is here for modern rhyme
To him, who turns a musing eye
On songs, and deeds, and lives, that lie
Foreshorten’d in the tract of time?

These mortal lullabies of pain
May bind a book, may line a box,
May serve to curl a maiden’s locks;
Or when a thousand moons shall wane

A man upon a stall may find,
And, passing, turn the page that tells
A grief, then changed to something else,
Sung by a long-forgotten mind.

But what of that? My darken’d ways
Shall ring with music all the same;
To breathe my loss is more than fame,
To utter love more sweet than praise.




LXXXV.

O friendship, equal poised control,
O heart, with kindliest motion warm,
O sacred essence, other form,
O solemn ghost, O crowned soul!

Yet none could better know than I,
How much of act at human hands
The sense of human will demands
By which we dare to live or die.




XCVI.

I know not: one indeed I knew
In many a subtle question versed,
Who touch'd a jarring lyre at first,
But ever strove to make it true;

Perplext in faith, but pure in deeds,
At last he beat his music out.
There lives more faith in honest doubt,
Believe me, than in half the creeds.

He fought his doubts and gather'd strength,
He would not make his judgment blind,
He faced the spectres of the mind
And laid them; thus he came at length

To find a stronger faith his own, ...

[Bettie · Rating 2 out of 5]

This will have to go into the re-read folder. I have listened and feel that no justice could be given until more is understood and all I undwerstand so far is that it is poe-esque. Oh and the body buried under the road - that is like the Romanovs, that is where they were flung!

*shudder*

[Kylie · Rating 5 out of 5]

I have this one, but while this is the 1974 reprint, I have the 1898 edition. Which is beautiful. And lovely. And technically my grandparents'. But I care not for technicalities. IT IS MINE.

[Madhurjya Goswami · Rating 3 out of 5]

Liked Mariana, Song, Lady of Shalott