Page:Poems - Tennyson (1843) - Volume 1 of 2.djvu/67

iii.

Thou wilt not turn upon thy bed;

Chaunteth not the brooding bee
Sweeter tones than calumny?
⁠Let them rave.
Thou wilt never raise thine head
From the green that folds thy grave.
⁠Let them rave.

iv.

Crocodiles wept tears for thee;

The woodbine and eglatere
Drip sweeter dews than traitor's tear.
⁠Let them rave.
Rain makes music in the tree
O'er the green that folds thy grave.
⁠Let them rave.