Drip sweeter dews than traitor's tear. Let them rave. Rain makes music in the tree O'er the green that folds thy grave. Let them rave. Round thee blow, self-pleached deep, Bramble roses, faint and pale, And long purples of the dale. The gold-eyéd kingcups fine; The frail bluebell peereth over Rare broidry of the purple clover. Let them rave. Kings have no such couch as thine, As the green that folds thy grave. Let them rave. Wild words wander here and there: God's great gift of speech abused Makes thy memory confused: But let them rave. The balm-cricket carols clear In the green that folds thy grave. When the long dun wolds are ribb'd with snow, And loud the Norland whirlwinds blow, Oriana, Alone I wander to and fro, Oriana. Ere the light on dark was growing, Oriana, At midnight the cock was crowing, Oriana: Winds were blowing, waters flowing, We heard the steeds to battle going, Oriana : Aloud the hollow bugle blowing, Oriana. In the yew-wood black as night, Ere I rode into the fight, Oriana, C While blissful tears blinded my sight By star-shine and by moonlight, Oriana, I to thee my troth did plight, Oriana. She stood upon the castle wall, Oriana: She watch'd my crest among them all, Oriana: She saw me fight, she heard me call, When forth there stept a foeman tall, Oriana, Atween me and the castle wall, Oriana. |