The baby new to earth and sky,
What time his tender palm is prest
Against the circle of the breast,
Has never thought that “this is I”:
But as he grows he gathers much,
And learns the use of “I,” and “me,”
And finds “I am not what I see,
And other than the things I touch.”
So rounds he to a separate mind
From whence clear memory may begin,
As thro’ the frame that binds him in
His isolation grows defined.
This use may lie in blood and breath
Which else were fruitless of their due,
Had man to learn himself anew
Beyond the second birth of Death.
(Lord Alfred Tennyson)
More Poetry from Lord Alfred Tennyson:
Lord Alfred Tennyson Poems based on Topics: Death & Dying, Memory- Break, Break, Break (Lord Alfred Tennyson Poems)
- The Merman (Lord Alfred Tennyson Poems)
- Princess: A Medley: The splendour falls on castle walls (Lord Alfred Tennyson Poems)
- To Virgil (Lord Alfred Tennyson Poems)
- Idylls of the King: The Passing of Arthur (excerpt) (Lord Alfred Tennyson Poems)
- Hendecasyllabics (Lord Alfred Tennyson Poems)