There was no grandeur here, no sublimity, only weariness and gloom.
There was no grandeur here, no sublimity, only weariness and gloom.
“I ran upon life unknowing, without or science or art,
I found the first pretty maiden but she was a harlot at heart;
I wandered about the woodland after the melting of snow,
‘Here is the first pretty snowdrop’ — and it was the dung of a crow!”
Alfred, Lord Tennyson