Alfred Tennyson

[BobBradshaw]

Alfred Tennyson


Quoting dead poets in Latin or Greek
did not impress Rosa's parents for long.

Their politeness—
words chosen as carefully
as their perfectly clipped hedges—
could not be criticized.

Yet there was a coldness
descending from their high rooms,
where he was never allowed.

How could he not be in love
with their flirtatious daughter, Rosa?
She was more beautiful
than any carnation
in a young man’s lapel,

and if Alfred was simply
in the end another lapel for her,
he would hold onto Rosa
as long as he could.

Rumors as irritating
as wood smoke on fragile lungs
were adrift—
her parents arranging a marriage
with someone of their class.

Clearly it wasn't like a midsummer-snow,
coming as a surprise...
her parents' intentions
unopposed by Rosa,

her heart destined from birth
to be one more room
from which Alfred
would be excluded.