THE MILLER'S DAUGHTER

It is the miller's daughter,

         And she is grown so dear, so dear,

     That I would be the jewel

That trembles in her ear:

For hid in ringlets day and night,

I'd touch her neck so warm and white.

And I would be the girdle

About her dainty, dainty waist,

And her heart would beat against me,

In sorrow and in rest:

And I should know if it beat right,

I'd clasp it round so close and tight.

And I would be the necklace,

         And all day long to fall and rise

Upon her balmy bosom,

With her laughter or her sighs:

 And I would lie so light, so light,

 I scarce should be unclasp'd at night.

                                           -Lord Tennyson