SongFirst printed in 1830.The poem was written in the garden at the Old Rectory, Somersby; an autumn scene there which it faithfully describes. This poem seems to have haunted Poe, a fervent admirer of Tennyson’s early poems.1A Spirit haunts the year’s last hoursDwelling amid these yellowing bowers:To himself he talks;For at eventide, listening earnestly,At his work you may hear him sob and sighIn the walks;Earthward he boweth the heavy stalksOf the mouldering flowers:Heavily hangs the broad sunflowerOver its grave i’ the earth so chilly;Heavily hangs the hollyhock,Heavily hangs the tiger-lily.2The air is damp, and hush’d, and close,As a sick man’s room when he taketh reposeAn hour before death;My very heart faints and my whole soul grievesAt the moist rich smell of the rotting leaves,And the breathOf the fading edges of box beneath,And the year’s last rose.Heavily hangs the broad sunflowerOver its grave i’ the earth so chilly;Heavily hangs the hollyhock,Heavily hangs the tiger-lily.
First printed in 1830.
The poem was written in the garden at the Old Rectory, Somersby; an autumn scene there which it faithfully describes. This poem seems to have haunted Poe, a fervent admirer of Tennyson’s early poems.
1
A Spirit haunts the year’s last hoursDwelling amid these yellowing bowers:To himself he talks;For at eventide, listening earnestly,At his work you may hear him sob and sighIn the walks;Earthward he boweth the heavy stalksOf the mouldering flowers:Heavily hangs the broad sunflowerOver its grave i’ the earth so chilly;Heavily hangs the hollyhock,Heavily hangs the tiger-lily.
2
The air is damp, and hush’d, and close,As a sick man’s room when he taketh reposeAn hour before death;My very heart faints and my whole soul grievesAt the moist rich smell of the rotting leaves,And the breathOf the fading edges of box beneath,And the year’s last rose.Heavily hangs the broad sunflowerOver its grave i’ the earth so chilly;Heavily hangs the hollyhock,Heavily hangs the tiger-lily.