Softer than sleep, on valley, wave and wood?
A trance of solemn rapture seemed to lull
The charméd earth and circumambient air,
And the low murmur of the leaves seemed full
Of a resigned and passionless despair.
Though the warm breath of summer lingered still
In the lone paths where late her footsteps passed,
The pallid star-flowers on the purple hill
Sighed dreamily “we are the last! the last!”
I stood beside thee, and a dream of heaven