Sonnet [The Palid Thunderstricken Sigh For Gain]

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Title:     Sonnet [The Palid Thunderstricken Sigh For Gain]
Author: Alfred Lord Tennyson [More Titles by Tennyson]

The palid thunderstricken sigh for gain,
Down an ideal stream they ever float,
And sailing on Pactolus in a boat,
Drown soul and sense, while wistfully they strain
Weak eyes upon the glistering sands that robe
The understream. The wise could he behold
Cathedralled caverns of thick-ribbed gold
And branching silvers of the central globe,
Would marvel from so beautiful a sight
How scorn and ruin, pain and hate could flow:
But Hatred in a gold cave sits below,
Pleached with her hair, in mail of argent light
Shot into gold, a snake her forehead clips
And skins the colour from her trembling lips.

[The end]
Alfred Lord Tennyson's poem: Sonnet [The Palid Thunderstricken Sigh For Gain]

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