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.
***
Lord Alfred Tennyson
More poems by Baron Alfred, Lord Tennyson
Tagged 19, 19thcentury, about19century, about19thcentury, aboutclassicalpoetry, aboutclassics, aboutengland, aboutenglishpoems, aboutenglishpoets, aboutlaureate, aboutlife, aboutlyricism, aboutmeaningoflife, aboutromantic, aboutromantism, aboutvictorianpoetry, britishempire, classical, classicalpoetry, empire, Englishpoetry, Keats, lyric, poetlaureate, romantic, romantism, Tennyson, Victorian, Victorianpoetry
