Page:Poems - Tennyson (1843) - Volume 1 of 2.djvu/163

 Remaining utterly confused with fears, And ever worse with growing time, And ever unrelieved by dismal tears, And all alone in crime:

Shut up as in a crumbling tomb, girt round With blackness as a solid wall, Far off she seem'd to hear the dully sound Of human footsteps fall.

As in strange lands a traveller walking slow, In doubt and great perplexity, A little before moon-rise hears the low Moan of an unknown sea;

And knows not if it be thunder or a sound Of rocks thrown down, or one deep cry Of great wild beasts; then thinketh, "I have found A new land, but I die."