Poetry Archives

    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.