Alfred Tennyson [1809-1892]
AT HER WINDOW
Ah, Minstrel, how strange is
The carol you sing!
Let Psyche, who ranges
The garden of spring,
Remember the changes
December will bring.
Beating Heart! we come again
Where my Love reposes:
This is Mabel's window-pane;
These are Mabel's roses.
Is she nested? Does she kneel
In the twilight stilly,
Lily clad from throat to heel,
She, my virgin Lily?
Soon the wan, the wistful stars,
Fading, will forsake her;
Elves of light, on beamy bars,
Whisper then, and wake her.
Let this friendly pebble plead
At her flowery grating;
If she hear me will she heed?
Mabel, I am waiting.
Mabel will be decked anon,
Zoned in bride's apparel;
Happy zone! Oh hark to yon
Passion-shaken carol!
Sing thy song, thou tranced thrush,
Pipe thy best, thy clearest;—
Hush, her lattice moves, oh hush—
Dearest Mabel!—dearest....