The winds, as at their hour of birth,
Leaning upon the ridged sea,
Breathed low around the rolling earth
With mellow preludes, “We are Free”;
The streams through many a lilied row,
Down-carolling to the crisp’d sea,
Low-tinkled with a bell-like flow
Atween the blossoms, “We are free”.
[Greek: Oi Rheontes]
I
All thoughts, all creeds, all dreams are true,
All visions wild and strange;
Man is the measure of all truth
Unto himself. All truth is change:
All men do walk in sleep, and all
Have faith in that they dream:
For all things are as they seem to all,
And all things flow like a stream.
II
There is no rest, no calm, no pause,
Nor good nor ill, nor light nor shade,
Nor essence nor eternal laws:
For nothing is, but all is made.
But if I dream that all these are,
They are to me for that I dream;
For all things are as they seem to all,
And all things flow like a stream.
Argal—This very opinion is only true relatively to the flowing philosophers. (Tennyson’s note.)
