Page:Enoch Arden, etc - Tennyson - 1864.djvu/78

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AYLMER’S FIELD.
Stept thro' the stately minuet of those days:But Edith's eager fancy hurried with himSnatch'd thro' the perilous passes of his life:Till Leolin ever watchful of her eyeHated him with a momentary hate.Wife-hunting, as the rumour ran, was he:I know not, for he spoke not, only shower'dHis oriental gifts on everyoneAnd most on Edith: like a storm he came,And shook the house, and like a storm he went.
 Among the gifts he left her (possiblyHe flow'd and ebb'd uncertain, to returnWhen others had been tested) there was one,A dagger, in rich sheath with jewels on itSprinkled about in gold that branch'd itselfFine as ice-ferns on January panesMade by a breath. I know not whence at first,Nor of what race, the work; but as he toldThe story, storming a hill-fort of thieves
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