Explore "The Suppressed Poems" by Alfred Tennyson on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
We have had enough of motion, / Weariness and wild alarm, / Tossing on the tossing ocean, / Where the tusked seahorse walloweth / In a stripe of grassgreen calm, / At noon-tide beneath the lea; / And the monstrous narwhale swalloweth / His foamfountains in the sea. / Long enough the winedark wave our weary bark did carry. / This is lovelier and sweeter, / Men of Ithaca, this is meeter, / In the hollow rosy vale to tarry, / Like a dreamy Lotos-eater, a delirious Lotos-eater! / We will eat the Lotos, sweet / As the yellow honeycomb, / In the valley some, and some / On the ancient heights divine; / And no more roam, / On the loud hoar foam, / To the melancholy home / At the limit of the brine, / The little isle of Ithaca, beneath the day's decline.
We'll lift no more the shattered oar, / No more unfurl the straining sail; / With the blissful Lotos-eaters pale / We will abide in the golden vale / Of the Lotos-land, till the Lotos fail; / We will not wander more. / Hark! how sweet the horned ewes bleat / On the solitary steeps, / And the merry lizard leaps, / And the foam-white waters pour; / And the dark pine weeps, / And the lithe vine creeps, / And the heavy melon sleeps / On the level of the shore: / Oh! islanders of Ithaca, we will not wander more, / Surely, surely, slumber is more sweet than toil, the shore / Than labour in the ocean, and rowing with the oar, / Oh! islanders of Ithaca, we will return no more.