LORD TENNYSON
Or foxlikc in the vine; nor cares to walk With Death and Morning on the silver horns, Nor wilt thou snare him in the white ravine, Nor find him dropt upon the firths of ice, That huddling slant in furrow-cloven falls To roll the torrent out of dusky doors: But follow; let the torrent dance thee down To find him in the valley; let the wild Lean-headed Eagles yelp alone, and leave The monstrous ledges there to slope, and spill Their thousand wreaths of dangling water-smoke.. That like a broken purpose waste in air: So waste not thou; but come, for all the vales Await thec, azure pillars of the hearth Aribe to thee; the children call, and I Thy shepherd pipe, and sweet is every sound, Sweeter thy voice, but every sound is sweet, Myriads of rivulets hurrying thro' the lawn, The moan of doves in immemorial elms, And murmuring of innumerable bees.
��Maud
COME into the garden, Maud, For the black bat, Night, has flown, Come into the garden, Maud,
I am here at the gate alone; And the woodbine spices are wafted abroad, And the musk of the roses blown.
For a breeze of morning moves,
And the planet of Love is on high,
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