Page:Poems - Tennyson (1843) - Volume 2 of 2.djvu/133

 "Not less the bee would range her cells, The furzy prickle fire the dells, The foxglove cluster dappled bells."

I said that "all the years invent; Each month is various to present The world with some development.

"Were this not well, to bide mine hour, Tho' watching from a ruin'd tower How grows the day of human power?"

"The highest-mounted mind," he said, "Still sees the sacred morning spread The silent summit overhead.

"Will thirty seasons render plain Those lonely lights that still remain, Just breaking over land and main?