Tennyson

"Behold, we know not anything;
I can but trust that good shall fall
At last–far off–at last, to all,
And every winter change to spring

So runs my dream, but what am I?
An infant crying in the night
An infant crying for the light
And with no language but a cry."
Tennyson, In Memoriam A.H.H.(1849), Canto LIV.

Excerto do poema preferido da era vitoriana e naturalmente da própria Rainha Vitória.