The Thursday Poem

Potted Flowers with Books IV
Eric Barjot

from The Princess

Ask me no more: the moon may draw the sea;

The cloud may stoop from heaven and take the shape

With fold to fold, of mountain or of cape;

But O too fond, when have I answer'd thee?

Ask me no more.

Ask me no more: what answer should I give?

I love not hollow cheek or faded eye:

Yet, O my friend, I will not have thee die!

Ask me no more, lest I should bit thee live;

Ask me no more.

Ask me no more: thy fate and mine are seal'd:

I strove against stream and all in vain:

Let the great river take me to the main:

No more, dear love, for at a touch I yield;

Ask me no more.

Alfred, Lord Tennyson

(6th August 1809 - 6th October 1892)