Page:Poems - Tennyson (1843) - Volume 1 of 2.djvu/157

 Thro' which the lights' rose, amber, emerald, blue, Flush'd in her temples and her eyes, And from her lips, as morn from Memnon, drew Rivers of melodies.

No nightingale delighteth to prolong Her low preamble all alone, More than my soul to hear her echo'd song Throb thro' the ribbed stone.

Singing and murmuring in her feastful mirth, Joying to feel herself alive. Lord over Nature, Lord of the visible earth. Lord of the senses five;

Communing with herself: "All these are mine, And let the world have peace or wars, 'Tis one to me." She—when young night divine Crown'd dying day with stars,