Page:Poems - Tennyson (1843) - Volume 2 of 2.djvu/85

xxxvi.

"I wish'd myself the fair young beech

That here beside me stands,
That round me, clasping each in each,
She might have lock'd her hands.

xxxvii.

"Yet seem'd the pressure thrice as sweet

As woodbine's fragile hold,
Or when I feel about my feet
The berried briony fold."

xxxviii.

O muffle round thy knees with fern,

And shadow Sumner-chace!
Long may thy topmost branch discern
The roofs of Sumner-place!

xxxix.

But tell me, did she read the name

I carved with many vows
When last with throbbing heart I came
To rest beneath thy boughs?