Earth’s haunted dreams from their free solitude;
All, save the image and the thought of those
Before us gone—our loved of early years,
Gone where affection’s cup hath lost the taste of tears.
LXXII.
I see a star—eve’s first-born!—in whose train
Past scenes, words, looks, come back. The arrowy spire
Of the lone cypress, as of wood-girt fane,
Rests dark and still amidst a heaven of fire;
The pine gives forth its odours, and the lake