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.