Page:Poems - Tennyson (1843) - Volume 1 of 2.djvu/104



Thy dark eyes open'd not, Nor first reveal'd themselves to English air, For there is nothing here Which, from the outward to the inward brought, Moulded thy baby thought. Far off from human neighbourhood Thou wert born, on a summer morn, A mile beneath the cedar-wood. Thy bounteous forehead was not fann'd With breezes from our oaken glades, But thou wert nursed in some delicious land Of lavish lights, and floating shades: And flattering thy childish thought The oriental fairy brought,