Page:Poems - Tennyson (1843) - Volume 2 of 2.djvu/183



on the convent-roof the snows Are sparkling to the moon: My breath to heaven like vapour goes May my soul follow soon! The shadows of the convent-towers Slant down the snowy sward, Still creeping with the creeping hours That lead me to my Lord: Make Thou my spirit pure and clear As are the frosty skies, Or this first snowdrop of the year That in my bosom lies.