Home they brought her warrior dead by Alfred, Lord Tennyson

4. November 2007, 22:13 Uhralfred lord tennysonrinabeana


I haven’t posted anything by Tennyson in a while and this came up while I was searching for Celtic poetry. Naturally I took that as a sign that I should share it.

Home they brought her warrior dead
By Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Home they brought her warrior dead:
She nor swooned, nor uttered cry:
All her maidens, watching, said,
‘She must weep or she will die.’

Then they praised him, soft and low,
Called him worthy to be loved,
Truest friend and noblest foe;
Yet she neither spoke nor moved.

Stole a maiden from her place,
Lightly to the warrior stepped,
Took the face-cloth from the face;
Yet she neither moved nor wept.

Rose a nurse of ninety years,
Set his child upon her knee—
Like summer tempest came her tears—
‘Sweet my child, I live for thee.’

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