Note 127 — Chapter VI · THE LAST STAGE—TENNYSON TO SWINBURNE
Reading edition
We | are the mu|sic-mak|ers, And we | are the dream|ers of dreams, Wan|dering by lone | sea-break|ers, And sit|ting by de|solate streams: World-los|ers and world-|forsakers, On whom | the pale | moon gleams; For we | are the mov|ers and shak|ers Of the world | for ev|er, it seems.
(Anapæsts used with singular skill.)
The stars are dimly seen among the shadows of the bay, And lights that win are seen in strife with lights that die away. The wave is very still—the rudder loosens in our hand; The zephyr will not fill our sail, and waft us to the land; O precious is the pause between the winds that come and go, And sweet the silence of the shores between the ebb and flow. . . . . . . . Say, shall we sing of day or night, fair land or mighty ocean, Of any rapturous delight or any dear emotion, Of any joy that is on earth, or hope that is above, The holy country of our birth, or any song of love? . . . . . . . Our heart in all our life is like the hand of one who steers A bark upon an ocean rife with dangers and with fears: The joys, the hopes, like waves or wings, bear up this life of ours— Short as a song of all these things that make up all its hours.
(The old fourteener—but made almost new by the great variation of pause, by occasional redundance, and by the grouping of the lines.)