Page:Poems - Tennyson (1843) - Volume 2 of 2.djvu/220

 Than she whose elfin prancer springs By night to eery warblings, When all the glimmering moorland rings With jingling bridle-reins.

As fast she fled thro' sun and shade, The happy winds upon her play'd, Blowing the ringlet from the braid: She look'd so lovely, as she sway'd The rein with dainty finger-tips, A man had given all other bliss, And all his worldly worth for this, To waste his whole heart in one kiss Upon her perfect lips.