CLARIBEL: A MELODY

ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON

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     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.