Page:Poems - Tennyson (1843) - Volume 2 of 2.djvu/85

 I wish'd myself the fair young beech That here beside me stands, That round me, clasping each in each, She might have lock'd her hands.

Yet seem'd the pressure thrice as sweet As woodbine's fragile hold, Or when I feel about my feet The berried briony fold."

O muffle round thy knees with fern, And shadow Sumner-chace! Long may thy topmost branch discern The roofs of Sumner-place!

But tell me, did she read the name I carved with many vows When last with throbbing heart I came To rest beneath thy boughs?