The Eagle by Alfred, Lord Tennyson
I’m reading A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man for book club (and not particularly enjoying it) and Tennyson was referred to as a rhymester in a derogatory fashion. Fie!
The Eagle
By Alfred, Lord Tennyson
He clasps the crag with crookèd hands;
Close to the sun in lonely lands,
Ring’d with the azure world, he stands.
The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls;
He watches from his mountain walls,
And like a thunderbolt he falls.
Current Tea: pumpkin spice (black tea)
