Page:Poems - Tennyson (1843) - Volume 2 of 2.djvu/86

 O yes, she wander'd round and round These knotted knees of mine, And found, and kiss'd the name she found, And sweetly murmur'd thine.

A teardrop trembled from its source, And down my surface crept. My sense of touch is something coarse, But I believe she wept.

Then flush'd her cheek with rosy light, She glanced across the plain; But not a creature was in sight: She kiss'd me once again.

Her kisses were so close and kind, That, trust me on my word, Hard wood I am, and wrinkled rind, But yet my sap was stirr'd: