Page:Poems - Tennyson (1843) - Volume 1 of 2.djvu/206

 Still with their fires Love tipt his keenest darts; As once they drew into two burning rings All beams of Love, melting the mighty hearts Of captains and of kings.

Slowly my sense undazzled. Then I heard A noise of some one coming thro' the lawn, And singing clearer than the crested bird, That claps his wings at dawn.

"The torrent brooks of hallow'd Israel From craggy hollows pouring, late and soon, Sound all night long, in falling thro' the dell, Far-heard beneath the moon.

"The balmy moon of blessed Israel Floods all the deep-blue gloom with beams divine: All night the splinter'd crags that wall the dell With spires of silver shine."