Comes from the edge of dark;

A note as clear and slow

As falls from some enchanted bell,

Or spirit, passing from the world below,

That whispers back, Farewell.

 So in the heart, When, fading slowly down the past, Fond memories depart, And each that leaves it seems the last; Long after all the rest are flown, Returns a solitary tone,— The after-echo of departed years,— And touches all the soul to tears.

So in the heart,

When, fading slowly down the past,

Fond memories depart,

And each that leaves it seems the last;

Long after all the rest are flown,

Returns a solitary tone,—

The after-echo of departed years,—

And touches all the soul to tears.

1871.

 DULCIORA

 A tear that trembles for a little while Upon the trembling eyelid, till the world Wavers within its circle like a dream, Holds more of meaning in its narrow orb Than all the distant landscape that it blurs.

A tear that trembles for a little while

Upon the trembling eyelid, till the world

Wavers within its circle like a dream,

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