Tears, idle tears...

Tears, idle tears, I know not what they mean,
Tears from the depth of some divine despair
Rise in the heart, and gather in the eyes,
In looking on the happy autumn-fields,
And thinking of the days that are no more.

Fresh as the first beam glittering on a sail,
That brings our friends up from the underworld,
Sad as the last which reddens over one
That sinks with all we love below the verge;
So sad, so fresh, the days that are no more.


Poema completo (con notas y un pequeño análisis).

Escrito por Alfred Lord Tennyson (Inglaterra, 1809 - 1892) y extraído de mi baúl de recuerdos universitarios.