Come into the garden, Maud, |
For the black bat,
night, has flown, |
Come into the garden, Maud, |
I am here at the
gate alone ; |
And the woodbine spices are wafted abroad, |
And the musk of
the rose is blown.
|
For a breeze of morning moves, |
And the planet of
Love is on high, |
Beginning to faint in the light that she
loves |
On a bed of
daffodil sky, |
To faint in the light of the sun she loves, |
To faint in his
light, and to die.
|
All night have the roses heard |
The flute, violin,
bassoon ; |
All night has the casement jessamine
stirred |
To the dancers
dancing in tune ; |
Till a silence fell with the waking bird, |
And a hush with
the setting moon.
|
I said to the lily, ‘There is but one |
With whom she has
heart to be gay. |
When will the dancers leave her alone ? |
She is weary of
dance and play.’ |
Now half to the setting moon are gone, |
And half to the
rising day ; |
Low on the sand and loud on the stone |
The last wheel
echoes away.
|
I said to the rose, ‘The brief night goes |
In babble and
revel and wine. |
O young lord-lover, what sighs are those, |
For one that will
never be thine ? |
But mine, but mine,’ so I sware to the
rose, |
‘For ever and
ever, mine.’
|
And the soul of the rose went into my
blood, |
As the music
clashed in the hall ; |
And long by the garden lake I stood, |
For I heard your
rivulet fall |
From the lake to the meadow and on to the
wood, |
Our wood, that is
dearer than all ;
|
From the meadow your walks have left so
sweet |
That whenever a
March-wind sighs |
He sets the jewel-print of your feet |
In violets blue as
your eyes, |
To the woody hollows in which we meet |
And the valleys of
Paradise.
|
The slender acacia would not shake |
One long
milk-bloom on the tree ; |
The white lake-blossom fell into the lake |
As the pimpernel
dozed on the lea ; |
But the rose was awake all night for your
sake, |
Knowing your
promise to me ; |
The lilies and roses were all awake, |
They sighed for
the dawn and thee.
|
Queen rose of the rosebud garden of girls, |
Come hither, the
dances are done, |
In gloss of satin and glimmer of pearls, |
Queen lily and
rose in one ; |
Shine out, little head, sunning over with
curls, |
To the flowers,
and be their sun.
|
There has fallen a splendid tear |
From the
passion-flower at the gate. |
She is coming, my dove, my dear ; |
She is coming, my
life, my fate ; |
The red rose cries, ‘She is near, she is
near ;’ |
And the white rose
weeps, ‘She is late ;’ |
The larkspur listens, ‘I hear, I hear ;’ |
And the lily
whispers, ‘I wait.’
|
She is coming, my own, my sweet, |
Were it ever so
airy a tread, |
My heart would hear her and beat, |
Were it
earth in an earthy bed ; |
My dust would hear her and beat, |
Had I lain for a
century dead ; |
Would start and tremble under her feet, |
And blossom in
purple and red.
|
Alfred, Lord
Tennyson | Classic
Poems |
|
[ The Brook ] [ Blow, Bugle, Blow ] [ Come into the garden Maud ] [ Tithonus ] [ Ulysses ] [ Tears, Idle Tears ] [ The Lady of Shalott ] [ Song of the Lotus-Eaters ] [ The Charge of the Light Brigade ] [ In the Valley of Cauteretz ] [ In Memoriam ] [ The Eagle ] |