Page:Enoch Arden, etc - Tennyson - 1864.djvu/77

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AYLMER’S FIELD.
61
God bless 'em; marriages are made in Heaven.'
 A flash of semi-jealousy clear'd it to her.My Lady's Indian kinsman unannouncedWith half a score of swarthy faces came.His own, tho' keen and bold and soldierly,Sear'd by the close ecliptic, was not fair;Fairer his talk, a tongue that ruled the hour,Tho' seeming boastful: so when first he dash'dInto the chronicle of a deedful day,Sir Aylmer half forgot his lazy smileOf patron 'Good! my lady's kinsman! good!'My lady with her fingers interlock'd,And rotatory thumbs on silken knees,Call'd all her vital spirits into each earTo listen: unawares they flitted off,Busying themselves about the flowerageThat stood from our a stiff brocade in which,The meteor of a splendid season, she,Once with this kinsman, ah so long ago,
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