Page:Poems - Tennyson (1843) - Volume 1 of 2.djvu/105

 At the moment of thy birth, From old well-heads of haunted rills, And the hearts of purple hills, And shadow'd coves on a sunny shore, The choicest wealth of all the earth, Jewel or shell, or starry ore, To deck thy cradle, Eleänore.

Or the yellow-banded bees, Thro' half-open lattices Coming in the scented breeze, Fed thee, a child, lying alone, With whitest honey in fairy gardens cull'd– A glorious child, dreaming alone, In silk-soft folds, upon yielding down, With the hum of swarming bees Into dreamful slumber lull'd.

Who may minister to thee? Summer herself should minister To thee, with fruitage golden-rinded On golden salvers, or it may be,