Path an old Romantic Poet took.

This is my own tribute to my favourite Poet,Tennyson.



I followed a path,the old Romantic Poet took.
To see the images from his book.
Of verse he had written through, the night.
In peace and solitude,and candle light.

He wrote verse,of many things.
Like long lost friends,and Idylls of Kings.
Of Grecian heros,their rise and falls.
Of deserted houses,and country halls.

Verse of brave vain charges,of courages men.
Who fought the war,in the Crimean.
Of mystic lands,and Krakens old.
And of Arthurs brave knights so bold.

But the verse,that i most adore.
Is about the countryside,outside my door.
A place, where he would aimlessly roam.
Near to the village,that was his home.

So i started my path,up the Poets lane.
And entered a track,with the long misplaced name.
Down the track,past Jenny Wren.
And over a green pasture,to a leafy glen.

Where i follow up stream,to a babbling brook.
Still following the path,the old Romantic Poet took.
And stopped at a point ,where the waters still.
Just below the watermill.

Where Carp and Rudd ,do gently sway.
Through the current,on their way.
Time alas is ,in constant flight.
And things do not stay,as they might.

For tea's and cake's are now the norm.
With litter bins,for wasps to swarm.
But i can see,what the Poet saw.
I see the Miller,at the door.

I see the sacks of wheat,for him to grind.
Stacked neatly on a cart,behind.
A horse quietly,standing still.
In the courtyard,of the watermill.

And i see his daughter,sweet and fair.
With golden locks,of flowing hair.
With ruby lips,and waxen breast.
A vision of rustic,tenderness.

And in the background,a water sound.
As the water wheel,gently goes round.
And in the Chestnuts,boughs above.
The sound of skylark,and of Dove.

And as the shades of day,come under the tree.
A deep sadness, does come over me.
As i remember from the verse,the Poets tale.
Of how he loved,and lost this girl.

And i think some things,even in verse and rhyme.
Are just too personal,and best left in another time.
So i close the verses,and the pages of my book.
And return up the path,the old Romantic Poet took.

 

This is a really nice poem. I am an avid reader of the Classics and Romantics as well. I love Tennyson's "The Lady of Shalott" and this reminded me of the Pre-Raphaelites who I adore. There is a beautifully ethereal painting, you should check out if you haven't already. Good luck with your future poems. Peace!