Tennyson wrote of his dead friend, and here is a verse of it:
“The path by which we twain did go,
Which led by tracts that pleased us well
Thro’ four sweet years, arose and fell
From flower to flower, from snow to snow;
But where the path we walk’d began
To slant the fifth autumnal slope,
As we descended, following hope,
There sat the shadow feared of man,
Who broke our fair companionship,