Volume Ii Part 36 (2/2)
Elizabeth Barrett Browning [1806-1861]
SONG From ”The Miller's Daughter”
It is the miller's daughter, And she is grown so dear, so dear, That I would be the jewel That trembles in her ear; For hid in ringlets day and night, I'd touch her neck so warm and white.
And I would be the girdle About her dainty, dainty waist, And her heart would beat against me, In sorrow and in rest; And I should know if it beat right, I'd clasp it round so close and tight.
And I would be the necklace, And all day long to fall and rise Upon her balmy bosom With her laughter or her sighs; And I would lie so light, so light, I scarce should be unclasped at night.
Alfred Tennyson [1809-1892]
LILIAN
Airy, fairy Lilian, Flitting, fairy Lilian, When I ask her if she love me, Clasps her tiny hand above me, Laughing all she can; She'll not tell me if she love me, Cruel little Lilian.
When my pa.s.sion seeks Pleasance in love-sighs, She, looking through and through me, Thoroughly to undo me, Smiling, never speaks: So innocent-arch, so cunning-simple, From beneath her gathered wimple Glancing with black-beaded eyes, Till the lightning laughters dimple The baby-roses in her cheeks; Then away she flies.
Prithee weep, May Lilian!
Gaiety without eclipse Wearieth me, May Lilian: Through my very heart it thrilleth, When from crimson-threaded lips Silver-treble laughter thrilleth: Prithee weep, May Lilian!
Praying all I can, If prayers will not hush thee, Airy Lilian, Like a rose-leaf I will crush thee, Fairy Lilian.
Alfred Tennyson [1809-1892]
BUGLE SONG From ”The Princess”
The splendor falls on castle walls And snowy summits old in story: The long light shakes across the lakes, And the wild cataract leaps in glory.
Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying, Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying.
O hark, O hear! how thin and clear, And thinner, clearer, farther going!
O sweet and far from cliff and scar The horns of Elfland faintly blowing!
Blow, let us hear the purple glens replying: Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying.
O love, they die in yon rich sky, They faint on hill or field or river: Our echoes roll from soul to soul, And grow for ever and for ever.
Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying, And answer, echoes, answer, dying, dying, dying.
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