Friendship
By Alfred Lord Tennyson
O thou most holy Friendship! wheresoeer
Thy dwelling befor in the courts of man
But seldom thine all-heavenly voice we hear,
Sweetning the moments of our narrow span;
And seldom thy bright foot-steps do we scan
Along the weary waste of life unblest,
For faithless is its frail and wayward plan,
And perfidy is mans eternal guest,
With dark suspicion linkd and shameless interest!
Tis thine, when life has reachd its final goal,
Ere the last sigh that frees the mind be givn,
To speak sweet solace to the parting soul,
And pave the bitter path that leads to heavn:
Tis thine, wheneer the heart is rackd and rivn
By the hot shafts of baleful calumny,
When the dark spirit to despair is drivn,
To teach its lonely grief to lean on thee,
And pour within thine ear the tale of misery.
But where art thou, thou comet of an age,
Thou phnix of a century? Perchance
Thou art but of those fables which engage
And hold the minds of men in giddy trance.
Yet, be it so, and be it all romance,
The thought of thine existence is so bright
With beautiful imaginingsthe glance
Upon thy fancied being such delight,
That I will deem thee Truth, so lovely is thy might!