Tears, idle tears, I know not what they mean, <br />Tears from the depth of some divine despair <br />Rise in the heart, and gather to the eyes, <br />In looking on the happy Autumn-fields, <br />And thinking of the days that are no more. <br /> <br />Fresh as the first beam glittering on a sail, <br />That brings our friends up from the underworld, <br />Sad as the last which reddens over one <br />That sinks with all we love below the verge; <br />So sad, so fresh, the days that are no more. <br /> <br />Ah, sad and strange as in dark summer dawns <br />The earliest pipe of half-awakened birds <br />To dying ears, when unto dying eyes <br />The casement slowly grows a glimmering square; <br />So sad, so strange, the days that are no more. <br /> <br />Dear as remembered kisses after death, <br />And sweet as those by hopeless fancy feigned <br />On lips that are for others; deep as love, <br />Deep as first love, and wild with all regret; <br />O Death in Life, the days that are no more!<br /><br />Alfred Lord Tennyson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/tears-idle-tears/
