O Love they die in yon rich sky, They faint on hill or field or river Our echoes roll from soul to soul, And grow forever and forever. Blow, bugle, blow set the wild echoes flying And answer, echoes, answer dying, dying, dying. (Alfred, Lord Tennyson)

O Love they die in yon rich sky, They faint on hill or field or river Our echoes roll from soul to soul, And grow forever and forever. Blow, bugle, blow set the wild echoes flying And answer, echoes, answer dying, dying, dying.

Alfred, Lord Tennyson

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answer blow bugle die dying echo faint field flying forever hill love rich river roll set sky soul wild

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