When life still hovers, and seems to lower,
Though voice hath no spell, and the pulse no power!
V.
I tell ye the story this chill Halloween,
For it suiteth the Spirit-eve;
But my trance was in Spring-time, when trees were green,
And the hedgerows began to leave:
When the blossom put forth, and the year was new:
When Earth was so lovely—to bid it adieu
Seem’d doubly to die!—and I thought while I drew