Page:Poems - Tennyson (1843) - Volume 2 of 2.djvu/54



" Bull, the Fleece are cramm'd, and not a room For love or money. Let us picnic there At Audley Court." I spoke, while Audley feast Humm'd like a hive all round the narrow quay, To Francis, with a basket on his arm, To Francis just alighted from the boat, And breathing of the sea. "With all my heart," Said Francis. Then we shoulder'd through the swarm, And rounded by the stillness of the beach To where the bay runs up its latest horn. We left the dying ebb that faintly lipp'd The flat red granite; so by many a sweep