A Melody

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.