And now the truth had flash’d into his brain:
And he has fallen, with a shriek of pain,
Upon the lap of pale and yellow moss;
For long ago he gave that blessed cross
To his fair girl, and knew the relic still,
By many a thousand thoughts, that rose at will
Before it of the one that was not now,
But, like a dream, had floated from the brow
Of time, that seeth many a lovely thing
Fade by him, like a sea-wave murmuring.