Page:Poems - Tennyson (1843) - Volume 2 of 2.djvu/83

 An hour had past—and, sitting straight Within the low-wheel'd chaise, Her mother trundled to the gate Behind the dappled grays.

But, as for her, she stay'd at home, And on the roof she went, And down the way you use to come She look'd with discontent.

She left the novel half-uncut Upon the rosewood shelf; She left the new piano shut: She could not please herself.

Then ran she, gamesome as the colt, And livelier than a lark She sent her voice through all the holt Before her, and the park.