Alfred Lord Tennyson

    Where Claribel low-lieth
      The breezes pause and die,
        Letting the rose-leaves fall:
  But the solemn oak-tree sigheth,
        Thick-leaved, ambrosial,
      With an ancient melody
    Of an inward agony,
  Where Claribel low-lieth.

  At eve the beetle boometh
      Athwart the thicket lone:
  At noon the wild bee hummeth
      About the moss'd headstone:
  At midnight the moon cometh,
      And looketh down alone.
  Her song the lintwhite swelleth,
  The clear-voiced mavis dwelleth,
      The callow throstle lispeth,
  The slumbrous wave outwelleth,
      The babbling runnel crispeth,
  The hollow grot replieth
      Where Claribel low-lieth. 

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