As pale Eurydice once longed, to know again
The happier ways, the more harmonious air,
Where once they heard that half-remembered strain,—
Where once their exiled feet were wont to fare.
A gleam of some strange golden life now gone,
A sad remembrance of celestial things,
Some old-time glory, like the gods', outshone
From men's rapt souls, wherein a memory clings
Of that diviner day, from them withdrawn.
For all the dreams that smouldered in man's breast,