Ask Me No More

gb-engwritten by Alfred Lord Tennyson

Ask me no more: the moon may draw the sea;
The cloud may stoop from heaven and take the shape,
With fold to fold, of mountain or of cape;
But O too fond, when have I answer'd thee?
Ask me no more.

Ask me no more: what answer should I give?
I love not hollow cheek or faded eye:
Yet, O my friend, I will not have thee die!
Ask me no more, lest I should bid thee live;
Ask me no more.

Ask me no more: thy fate and mine are seal'd:
I strove against the stream and all in vain:
Let the great river take me to the main:
No more, dear love, for at a touch I yield;
Ask me no more.



Alfred Lord Tennyson

Other poems by Alfred Lord Tennyson

In Memoriam A. H. H. Obiit MDCCCXXXIII: 3. O Sorrow, cruel

gb-engwritten by Alfred Lord Tennyson, published on Wed 09.28.2011 at 15:09

O Sorrow, cruel fellowship,
O Priestess in the vaults of Death,
O sweet and bitter in a breath,

Read poem...

Come Into the Garde, Maud

gb-engwritten by Alfred Lord Tennyson, published on Thu 09.15.2011 at 19:54

Come into the garden, Maud,
For the black bat, Night, has flown,
Come into the garden, Maud,
I am here at the gate alone;

Read poem...

The Princess (prologue)

gb-engwritten by Alfred Lord Tennyson, published on Thu 08.25.2011 at 14:06

Sir Walter Vivian all a summer's day
Gave his broad lawns until the set of sun
Up to the people:thither flocked at noon

Read poem...

The Princess (part 3)

gb-engwritten by Alfred Lord Tennyson, published on Thu 08.18.2011 at 00:49

Morn in the wake of the morning star
Came furrowing all the orient into gold.
We rose, and each by other drest with care

Read poem...

In Memoriam A. H. H.: 105. To-night ungather'd let us leave

gb-engwritten by Alfred Lord Tennyson, published on Tue 08.09.2011 at 15:00

To-night ungather'd let us leave
This laurel, let this holly stand:
We live within the stranger's land,

Read poem...

The Holy Grail

gb-engwritten by Alfred Lord Tennyson, published on Sun 07.31.2011 at 09:14

From noiseful arms, and acts of prowess done
In tournament or tilt, Sir Percivale,

Read poem...