Page:Poems - Tennyson (1843) - Volume 1 of 2.djvu/183

 And say to Robin a kind word, and tell him not to fret; There's many worthier than I, would make him happy yet. If I had lived—I cannot tell—I might have-been his wife; But all these things have ceased to be, with my desire of life.

O look! the sun begins to rise, the heavens are in a glow; He shines upon a hundred fields, and all of them I know. And there I move no longer now, and there his light may shine— Wild flowers in the valley for other hands than mine.

O sweet and strange it seems to me, that ere this day is done The voice, that now is speaking, may be beyond the sun— For ever and for ever with those just souls and true— And what is life, that we should moan? why make we such ado?