Page:Poems - Tennyson (1843) - Volume 2 of 2.djvu/160

 , let me speak: A pleasant hour has past away While, dreaming on your damask cheek, The dewy sister-eyelids lay. As by the lattice you reclined, I went thro' many wayward moods To see you dreaming—and, behind, A summer crisp with shining woods. And I too dream'd, until at last Across my fancy, brooding warm. The reflex of a legend past, And loosely settled into form.