“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.”

Part I, section xxii, stanza 11
Maud; A Monodrama (1855)

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Alfred, Lord Tennyson213

British poet laureate 1809–1892

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