Baron Alfred Tennyson Tennyson, Becket and other plays
“ I have but one hour with thee— Sceptre and crozier clashing, and the mitre Grappling the crown—and when I flee from this For a gasp of freer air, a breathing-while To rest upon thy bosom and forget him— Why thou, my bird, thou pipest Becket, Becket— Yea, thou my golden dream of Love's own bower, Must be the nightmare breaking on my peace With 'Becket.' ROSAMUND. O my life's life, not to smile Is all but death to me. ”
