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Alfred Tennyson (Lord)

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That tower of strength
Which stood four-square to all the winds that blew.
--
St. IV.

 
Alfred Tennyson (Lord)

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Rich in saving common-sense,
And, as the greatest only are,
In his simplicity sublime.
O good gray head which all men knew,
O voice from which their omens all men drew,
O iron nerve to true occasion true,
O fallen at length that tower of strength
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He stood, and heard the steeple
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One, two, three, four, to market-place and people
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The monster cried out at the tower. The foghorn blew. The monster roared again. The foghorn blew. The monster opened its great toothed mouth, and the sound that came from it was the sound of the foghorn itself.

 
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The old
Old winds that blew
When chaos was, what do
They tell the clattered trees that I
Should weep?

 
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A woman in white stood atop the rubble a short distance away, a massive halo of power surrounding her, her arm outstretched toward the fleeing soldiers, her eyes intense. The woman stood like vengeance itself, the power of saidar like a storm around her. The very air seemed alight, and her brown hair blew from the wind of the open gap in the wall beside them. Egwene al'Vere.

 
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