Page:Poems - Tennyson (1843) - Volume 1 of 2.djvu/199

 The dim red morn had died, her journey done, And with dead lips smiled at the twilight plain, Half-fall'n across the threshold of the sun, Never to rise again.

There was no motion in the dumb dead air, Not any song of bird or sound of rill: Gross darkness of the inner sepulchre Is not so deadly still

As that wide forest. Growths of jasmine turn'd Their humid arms festooning tree to tree, And at the root thro' lush green grasses burn'd The red anemone.

I knew the flowers, I knew the leaves, I knew The tearful glimmer of the languid dawn On those long, rank, dark wood-walks drench'd in dew, Leading from lawn to lawn.