He hears her surging in the Deep.     

  

       Ever throughout the year 'tis thus     

       Till drones the dream-toned Angelus     

       Of Hallowe'en; then, underground,     

       Unto dead ears its voice doth sound     

       Like Christ's voice, crying, "Lazarus."     

  

       Palsied with haste the dead men rise     

       Groaning, because their unused eyes     

       Can scarce endure Earth's blackest night;     

       It wounds them as 'twere furious light     

       And stars were flame-clouds in the skies.     

  

       What tenderness and sad amaze     

       Must grieve lost spirits when they gaze     

       Beneath a withered moon, and view     

       The ancient happiness they knew—     

       The live, sweet world and all its ways!     

  

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