Page:Poems - Tennyson (1843) - Volume 1 of 2.djvu/63



plain was grassy, wild and bare, Wide, wild, and open to the air, Which had built up everywhere An under-roof of doleful gray With an inner voice the river ran, Adown it floated a dying swan, Which loudly did lament. It was the middle of the day. Ever the weary wind went on, And took the reed-tops as it went.

Some blue peaks in the distance rose, And white against the cold-white sky, Shone out their crowning snows.