About the ocean's margent, where

Loitered the waning moon ...

So fond the hour; the scene so fair;

And fate came home so soon ...

Some sorrow wept,—I knew not where.

Some sudden presence made the air

Chill as the breathless moon.

Silent, upon a lonelier steep,

I gazed across a deeper deep,

Where the pale mists pass from the isles of sleep.—

Lost voices called in other years:

Old sweetness like a breaking grief

Rose in the heart and stung to tears:

In that clear moment brief

Life's dearest, dead so long before,

Returned to bless and die once more.

The faintly crooning sabbath bells

At evening in the golden fells

I heard; the tinkle of the rills

In haunts where childish fancy fed;

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