All things have rest: why should we toil alone, 60 We only toil, who are the poker sisal android first of things, And make perpetual moan, Still from one sorrow to another thrown; Nor ever fold our wings, And cease from wanderings, 65 Nor steep our brows.
There is confusion worse than death, Trouble on trouble, pain on pain, Long labour unto aged breath, Sore task to hearts worn out by many wars And eyes grown dim with gazing on the pilot-stars.
VII But, propt on beds of amaranth and moly, How sweet (while warm airs lull us, blowing lowly) With half-dropt eyelid still, Beneath a heaven dark and holy, To watch the long bright river drawing slowly His waters from the purple hill- To hear the.
VI Dear is the memory of our wedded lives, And dear the last embraces of our wives And their warm tears: but all hath suffer'd change: For surely now our household hearths are cold, Our sons inherit us: our looks are strange: And we should.To dream and dream, like yonder amber light, Which will not leave the myrrh-bush on the height; To hear each others whisperd speech; Eating the Lotos day by day, 105 To watch the crisping ripples on the beach, And tender curving lines of creamy spray;.All round the coast the languid air did swoon, Breathing like one that hath a weary dream.The lotus Eaters Summary by Alfred Tennyson The poem begins with the Odysseus pointing a finger towards the land that was seemingly the mariners'.All things have rest: why should we toil alone, We only toil, who are the first of things, And make perpetual moan, Still from one sorrow to another thrown: Nor ever fold our wings, And cease from wanderings, Nor steep our brows in slumber's holy.Was seen far inland, and the yellow down.The glimmering, jangly pop of the Lotus Eaters evokes images of lonely summer afternoons.They sat them down upon the yellow sand, Between the sun and moon upon the shore; And sweet it was to dream of Fatherland, Of child, and wife, and slave; but evermore.All its allotted length of days 80 The flower ripens in its place, Ripens and fades, and falls, and hath no toil, Fast-rooted in the fruitful soil.Dead Can Dance - The Lotus Eaters.We have had enough of action, and of motion we, Roll'd to starboard, roll'd to larboard, when the surge was seething free, Where the wallowing monster spouted his foam-fountains in the sea.And round about the keel with faces pale, 25 Dark faces pale against that rosy flame, The mild-eyed melancholy Lotos-eaters came.
But they smile, they find a music centred in a doleful song Steaming up, a lamentation and an ancient tale of wrong, Like a tale of little meaning tho the words are strong; Chanted from an ill-used race of men that cleave the soil, 165.
Only to hear and see the far-off sparkling brine, Only to hear were sweet, stretchd out beneath the pine.
To dream and dream, like yonder amber light, Which will not leave the myrrh-bush on the height; To hear each other's whisper'd speech; Eating the Lotos day by day, To watch the crisping ripples on the beach, And tender curving lines of creamy spray;.