III
by Alfred, Lord Tennyson
· (no date)
Published 01/07/1880
Part of O Love, Love, Love!
Before he mounts the hill, I know
He cometh quickly: from below
Sweet gales, as from deep gardens, blow
Before him, striking on my brow.
In my dry brain my spirit soon,
Downdeepening from swoon to swoon,
Faints like a dazzled morning moon.