February 26^th, 1884

Cold gleamed the cones of Froswick and Ill Bell,
        And underneath old Fairfield’s crown of snow
    Down to the Rotha and the meads below,
The dark-haired woods of stately Rydal fell.
Out shone the sun, and the daffodils aglow
    Moved in their shrouds, when solemnly and slow
We heard the melancholy mourner’s bell.

Sun failed, the cold air shuddered at the sound,
    The Brathay ran unsparkling to the lake,
Sunless we laid her body in the ground,
        But memory made such summer of the spot
    That in our hearts new sunrise seemed to wake,
            And all the valley bloomed forget-me-not.

(Valete: Tennyson and other Memorial Poems, p. 157)