Strike up the vales where water-courses sing,
Death’s mist shall strike along her veins, and cling
Thenceforth forever round her glorious frame:
For all her radiant presence, May shall bring
A memory and a name.”
Again, in “The Two Visions,” was the low moan of a poet’s stricken heart.
“Through days of toil, through nightly fears,
A vision blessed my heart for years;
And so secure its features grew,
My heart believed the blessing true.