Flower in the Crannied Wall

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Flower in the crannied wall,

I pluck you out of the crannies,

I hold you here, root and all, in my hand,

Little flower—but if I could understand

What you are, root and all, all in all,

I should know what God and man is.

More poems by Lord Alfred Tennyson

I wage not any feud with Death / For changes wrought on form and face;

When on my bed the moonlight falls, / ; ; ; ;I know that in thy place of rest

Calm is the morn without a sound, / ; ; ; ;Calm as to suit a calmer grief,

O, were I loved as I desire to be! / What is there in the great sphere of the earth,