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Alfred Lord Tennyson - I Sing To Him That Rests Below Lyrics

I sing to him that rests below
And, since the grasses round me wave
I take the grasses of the grave
And make them pipes whereon to blow

I do but sing because I must
And pipe but as the linnets sing:

And one is glad; her note is gay
For now her little ones have ranged;
And one is sad; her note is changed
Because her brood is stol'n away