A metaphorical poem where life of an oak tree is compared with that of human.
By Lord Alfred Tennyson He clasps the crag with crooked hands;Close to the sun in lonely lands,Ring’d with the azure […]
By Alfred Lord Tennyson Break, break, break,On thy cold gray stones, O Sea!And I would that my tongue could utterThe […]
By Alfred Lord Tennyson It little profits that an idle king,By this still hearth, among these barren crags,Match’d with an […]