Page:Poems - Tennyson (1843) - Volume 2 of 2.djvu/89

 'Tis little more: the day was warm; At last, tired out with play, She sank her head upon her arm, And at my feet she lay.

Her eyelids dropp'd their silken eaves. I breathed upon her eyes Thro' all the summer of my leaves A welcome mix'd with sighs.

I took the swarming sound of life— The music from the town— The whispers of the drum and fife, And lull'd them in my own.

Sometimes I let a sunbeam slip To light her shaded eye; A second flutter'd round her lip Like a golden butterfly;