Excerpt from A Tennyson Pilgrimage and Tennyson, the Imperialist

Of ours, the saxo-norman race, And in the world the noblest place, Madam, is yours, our Queen and Head.

Your name is blown on every wind, Your ¿ag thro' Austral ice is borne, And glimmers to the Northern morn And ¿oats in either golden Ind.

I give this faulty book to you, For, tho' the faults be thick as dust In vacant chambers, I can trust Your woman's nature kind and true.

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