The Spiteful Letter
Here, it is here, the close of the year, And with it a spiteful letter. My name in song has done him much wrong, For himself has done much better. O little bard, is your lot so hard, If men neglect your pages? I think not much of yours or of mine, I hear the roll of the ages. Rhymes and rhymes in the range of the times! Are mine for the moment stronger? Yet hate me not, but abide your lot; I last but a moment longer. This faded leaf, our names are as brief; What room is left for a hater? Yet the yellow leaf hates the greener leaf, For it hangs one moment later. Greater than Iis that your cry? And men will live to see it. Wellif it be soso it is, you know; And if it be so, so be it. Brief, brief is a summer leaf, But this is the time of hollies. O hollies and ivies and evergreens, How I hate the spites and the follies!
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"Here, it is here, the close of the year,..."
"The Spiteful Letter" is a quintessential example of Alfred Lord Tennyson's signature style... ### Why We Love This Line At Linespedia, we believe that poetry is the ultimate sanctuary for the soul...