Page:Poems - Tennyson (1843) - Volume 1 of 2.djvu/152

 Nor these alone, but every landscape fair, As fit for every mood of mind, Or gay, or grave, or sweet, or stern, was there, Not less than truth design'd. Or the maid-mother by a crucifix. In tracts of pasture sunny-warm. Beneath branch-work of costly sardonyx Sat smiling, babe in arm.

Or in a clear-wall'd city on the sea, Near gilded organ-pipes, her hair with white roses, slept Saint Cecily; An angel look'd at her.

Or thronging all one porch of Paradise A group of Houris bow'd to see The dying Islamite, with hands and eyes That said, We wait for thee.