Page:Poems - Tennyson (1843) - Volume 1 of 2.djvu/68

v.

Round thee blow, self-pleached deep,

Bramble roses, faint and pale,
And long purples of the dale.
⁠Let them rave.
These in every shower creep
Thro' the green that folds thy grave.
⁠Let them rave.

vi.

The gold-eyed kingcups fine;

The frail bluebell peereth over
Rare broidry of the purple clover.
⁠Let them rave.
Kings have no such couch as thine,
As the green that folds thy grave.
⁠Let them rave.