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.