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All Tennyson's own is the beautiful passage "And while he waited in the castle court, The voice of Enid, Yniol's daughter, rang Clear thro' the open casement of the hall, Singing; and as the sweet voice of a bird, Heard by the lander in a lonely isle, Moves him to think what kind of bird it is That sings so delicately clear, and make Conjecture of the plumage and the form; So the sweet voice of Enid moved Geraint; And made him like a man abroad at morn When first the liquid note beloved of men Comes flying over many a windy wave To Britain, and in April suddenly Breaks from a coppice gemm'd with green and red, And he suspends his converse with a friend, Or it may be the labour of his hands, To think or say, 'There is the nightingale'; So fared it with Geraint, who thought and said, 'Here, by God's grace, is the one voice for me."
The storm is pass'd; o'er fields and woodlands gay, Gemm'd with bright dew-drops from the eastern sky, The morning sun now darts his golden ray, The lark on fluttering wing is poised on high; Too pure for earth, he wings his way above, To pour his grateful song of joy and love. Hark! from the bowels of the earth, a sound Of awful import!
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