A shadow flits before me,
Not thou, but like to thee;
Ah Christ, that it were possible
For one short hour to see
tom Row. I The souls we loved, that they might tell us What and where they be. od
bnIt leads me forth at evening,ud uld
It lightly winds and steals Dods med77
In a cold white robe before me,
When all my spirit reels.
At the shouts, the leagues of lights,
And the roaring of the wheels.
Half the night I waste in sighs,
Half in dreams I sorrow after tuli O
The delight of early skies;
In a wakeful doze I sorrow
For the hand, the lips, the eyes,
For the meeting of the morrow,
The delight of happy laughter,
The delight of low replies.
for user or now any I madW
'Tis a morning pure and sweet, adi yü
And a dewy splendour falls oors
On the little flower that clings
To the turrets and the walls;
'Tis a morning pure and sweet,
And the light and shadow fleet;
She is walking in the meadow, T
And the woodland echo rings; ba
In a moment we shall meet;
She is singing in the meadow
And the rivulet at her feet
Ripples on in light and shadow
To the ballad that she sings.
Do I hear her sing as of old,
My bird with the shining head,
My own dove with the tender eye?
But there rings on a sudden a passionate cry,
There is some one dying or dead,
And a sullen thunder is roll'd;
For a tumult shakes the city,
And I wake, my dream is fled;
In the shuddering dawn, behold,
Without knowledge, without pity,
By the curtains of my bed
That abiding phantom cold.
Get thee hence, nor come again,
Mix not memory with doubt,
Pass, thou deathlike type of pain,
Pass and cease to move about,
'Tis the blot upon the brain
That will show itself without.sda ¿A
jaaye bas guq geimom s al DS
al bah
Then I rise, the eavedrops fall, ad?
And the yellow vapours choke
The great city sounding wides al
The day comes, a dull red ballafa
Wrapt in drifts of lurid smoke
On the misty river-tide. no asiqq
aguia ode ters belled adi o
Thro' the hubbub of the market
I steal, a wasted frame,
It crosses here, it crosses there,
Thro' all that crowd confused and loud,
The shadow still the same
And on my heavy eyelids
My anguish hangs like shame.
That heard me softly call,
Came glimmering thro' the laurels
At the quiet evenfall,
In the garden by the turrets
Of the old manorial hall.
duob dir yiomem fon xi
Would the happy spirit descend, an
From the realms of light and song,›
In the chamber or the street,
As she looks among the blest, fed I
But the broad light glares and beats,
And the shadow flits and fleets
And will not let me be;
And I loathe the squares and streets,
And the faces that one meets,
Hearts with no love for me ow
Always I long to creep
Into some still cavern deep,
There to weep, and weep, and weep
My whole soul out to thee.busb act
Dead, long dead,
Long dead!
And my heart is a handful of dust, af onsch,997
And the wheels go over my head,
bones are shaken with pain, hous bÃÅ
For into a shallow grave they are thrust, she off
Only a yard beneath the street,
And the hoofs of the horses beat, beat,
The hoofs of the horses beat, she
Beat into my scalp and my brain,
With never an end to the stream of passing feet,
Driving, hurrying, marrying, burying,
Clamour and rumble, and ringing and clatter,
Maud And here beneath it is all as bad, rond
For I thought the dead had peace, but it is not so;
To have no peace in the grave, is that not sad?
But up
and down and to and fro, 61
Ever about me the dead men go;
And then to hear a dead man chatter
Is enough to drive one mad. Lord wilt will
alon't bas atill wobede adi bab
2391 ton How hab.
baf
Wretchedest age, since Time began,
They cannot even bury a man ; on bat
And tho' we paid our tithes in the days that are
geet na nool I avowiz.
raver was read;
Not a bell was rung, not a prayer
It is that which makes us loud in the world of sult of mo tuos slow
the dead;
There is none that does his work, not one;
A touch of their office might have sufficed,
But the churchmen fain would kill their church,
As the churches have kill'd their Christ.
See, there is one of us sobbing, and
No limit to his distress;ovo on deadw od ba
And another, a lord of all things, praying
To his own great self, as I guess;
And another, a statesman there, betraying
His party-secret, fool, to the press;
And yonder a vile physician, blabbing food s
The case of his patient all for what? tai rod
To tickle the maggot born in an empty head,
And wheedle a world that loves him not,
For it is but a world of the dead, bus omsl
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