Page:Oxford Book of English Verse 1250-1900.djvu/846

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LORD TENNYSON

Came to her: without hope of change,In sleep she seem'd to walk forlorn,Till cold winds woke the gray-eyed mornAbout the lonely moated grange.She only said, 'The day is dreary,He cometh not,' she said;She said, 'I am aweary, aweary,I would that I were dead!'
About a stone-cast from the wallA sluice with blacken'd waters slept,And o'er it many, round and small,The cluster'd marish-mosses crept.Hard by a poplar shook alway,All silver-green with gnarlèd bark:For leagues no other tree did markThe level waste, the rounding gray.She only said, 'My life is dreary,He cometh not,' she said;She said, 'I am aweary, aweary,I would that I were dead!'
And ever when the moon was low,And the shrill winds were up and away,In the white curtain, to and fro,She saw the gusty shadow sway.But when the moon was very low,And wild winds bound within their cell,The shadow of the poplar fellUpon her bed, across her brow.She only said, 'The night is dreary,He cometh not,' she said;She said, 'I am aweary, aweary,I would that I were dead!'
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