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Maud : a monodrama / Alfred, Lord Tennyson

 
dc.contributor Burnard, Lou Computing Service University of Oxford Oxford
dc.contributor.author Tennyson, Alfred Tennyson, Baron, 1809-1892
dc.coverage.placeName London
dc.date.accessioned 2018-07-27
dc.date.accessioned 2019-07-04T09:52:49Z
dc.date.available 2019-07-04T09:52:49Z
dc.date.created 1855
dc.date.issued 1987-12-17
dc.identifier ota:1196
dc.identifier.citation http://purl.ox.ac.uk/ota/1196
dc.identifier.uri http://hdl.handle.net/20.500.12024/1196
dc.description.abstract Partial contents: Maud : a monodrama, pp. 1037-1093
dc.format.extent Text data (1 file : ca. 53 KB)
dc.format.medium Digital bitstream
dc.language English
dc.language.iso eng
dc.publisher University of Oxford
dc.relation.ispartof Oxford Text Archive Core Collection
dc.rights Distributed by the University of Oxford under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License.
dc.rights.uri http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-sa/3.0/
dc.rights.label PUB
dc.subject.lcsh English poetry -- 19th century
dc.subject.other Poems
dc.title Maud : a monodrama / Alfred, Lord Tennyson
dc.type Text
has.files yes
branding Oxford Text Archive
files.size 58399
files.count 2
otaterms.date.range 1800-1899

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<T MAUD> <P PART I> <P I> <S I> I hate the dreadful hollow behind the little wood, Its lips in the field above are dabbled with blood-red heath. The red-ribbed ledges drip with a silent horror of blood, And Echo there, whatever is asked her, answers `Death.' <S II> For there in the ghastly pit long since a body was found, His who had given me life - O father! O God! was it well?- There yet lies the rock that fell with him when he fell. <S III> Did he fling himself down? who knows? for a vast speculation had failed, And ever he muttered and maddened, and ever wanned with despair, And out he walked when the wind like a broken worlding wailed, And the flying gold of the ruined woodlands drove through the air. <S IV> I remember the time, for the roots of my hair were stirred By a shuffled step, by a dead weight trailed, by a whispered fright, And my pulses closed their gates with a shock on my heart as I heard The shrill-edged shriek of a . . .

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