The Garden

Excerpt from "Maud"

She is coming, my own, my sweet;
Were it ever so airy a tread,
My heart would hear her and beat,
Were it earth in an earthy bed;
My dust would hear her and beat,
Had I lain for a century dead,
Would start and tremble under her feet,
And blossom in purple and red.

by Alfred Lord Tennyson

Comments (2)

A beautifully rhymes short and sweet poem. Thanks for sharing it here.
A sweet piece of rescusitating affection