Page:Poems - Tennyson (1843) - Volume 1 of 2.djvu/150

 Full of great rooms and small the palace stood, All various, each a perfect whole From living Nature, fit for every mood And change of my still soul.

For some were hung with arras green and blue, Showing a gaudy summer-morn, Where with puff'd cheek the belted hunter blew His wreathed bugle-horn.

One seemed all dark and red—a tract of sand, And some one pacing there alone, Who paced for ever in a glimmering land, Lit with a low large moon.

One show'd an iron coast and angry waves. You seemed to hear them climb and fall And roar rock-thwarted under bellowing caves, Beneath the windy wall.