Claribel
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.
