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Alfred Lord Tennyson - Freedom
Work rating: Medium

Of old sat Freedom on the heights,
     The thunders breaking at her feet:
Above her shook the starry lights:
     She heard the torrents meet.

There in her place she did rejoice,
     Self-gather`d in her prophet-mind,
But fragments of her mighty voice
     Came rolling on the wind.

Then stept she down thro` town and field
     To mingle with the human race,
And part by part to men reveal`d
     The fullness of her face —

Grave mother of majestic works,
     From her isle-alter gazing down,
Who, God-like, grasps the triple forks,
     And, King-like, wears the crown:

Her open eyes desire the truth.
     The wisdom of a thousand years
Is in them. May perpetual youth
     Keep dry their light from tears;

That her fair form may stand and shine
     Make bright our days and light our dreams,
Turning to scorn with lips divine
     The falsehood of extremes!
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