Explore "The Suppressed Poems" by Alfred Tennyson on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
The palid thunderstricken sigh for gain, / Down an ideal stream they ever float, / And sailing on Pactolus in a boat, / Drown soul and sense, while wistfully they strain / Weak eyes upon the glistering sands that robe / The understream. The wise could he behold / Cathedralled caverns of thick-ribbed gold / And branching silvers of the central globe, / Would marvel from so beautiful a sight / How scorn and ruin, pain and hate could flow: / But Hatred in a gold cave sits below, / Pleached with her hair, in mail of argent light / Shot into gold, a snake her forehead clips / And skins the colour from her trembling lips.