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.

by Alfred, Lord Tennyson 1809–92, English poet, in Maud  (1855) pt. 1, sect. 22, st. 11