LORD TENNYSON

Came to her: without hope of change, In sleep she seem'd to walk forlorn, Till cold winds woke the gray-eyed morn About the lonely moated grange.

She only said, 'The day is dreary,

He cometh not,' she said ; She said, ' I am aweary, aweary, I would that I were dead ! J

About a stone-cast from the wall

A sluice with blacken'd waters slept, And o'er it many, round and small, The clustered marish-mosses crept. Hard by a poplar shook alway, All silver-green with gnarled bark: For leagues no other tree did mark The level waste, the rounding gray.

She only said, ' My life is dreary,

He cometh not,' she said; She said, ' I am aweary, aweary, I would that I were dead ! '

And ever when the moon was low,

And the shrill winds were up and away, In the white curtain, to and fro,

She saw the gusty shadow sway. But when the moon was very low,

And wild winds bound within their cell, The shadow of the poplar fell Upon her bed, across her brow.

She only said, 'The night is dreary,

He cometh not,' she said; She said, * I am aweary, aweary,

I would that I were dead!' to

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