A Dedication
By Alfred Lord Tennyson
DEAR, near and trueno truer Time himself
Can prove you, tho he make you evermore
Dearer and nearer, as the rapid of life
Shoots to the falltake this, and pray that he,
Who wrote it, honoring your sweet faith in him,
May trust himself; and spite of praise and scorn,
As one who feels the immeasurable world,
Attain the wise indifference of the wise;
And after Autumn pastif left to pass
His autumn into seeming-leafless days
Draw toward the long frost and longest night,
Wearing his wisdom lightly, like the fruit
Which in our winter woodland looks a flower.*