Page:Poems - Tennyson (1843) - Volume 2 of 2.djvu/87

 And even into my inmost ring A pleasure I discern'd Like those blind motions of the Spring, That show the year is turn'd.

Thrice-happy he that may caress The ringlet's waving balm— The cushions of whose touch may press The maiden's tender palm.

I, rooted here among the groves, But languidly adjust My vapid vegetable loves With anthers and with dust:

For, ah! the Dryad-days were brief Whereof the poets talk, When that, which breathes within the leaf, Could slip its bark and walk.