Page:Poems - Tennyson (1843) - Volume 2 of 2.djvu/93

 All grass of silky feather grow— And while he sinks or swells The full south-breeze around thee blow The sound of minster bells.

The fat earth feed thy branchy root, That under deeply strikes! The northern morning o'er thee shoot, High up, in silver spikes!

Nor ever lightning char thy grain, But, rolling as in sleep, Low thunders bring the mellow rain, That makes thee broad and deep!

And hear me swear a solemn oath, That only by thy side Will I to Olive plight my troth, And gain her for my bride.