A great Bard! 
  Ere yet the last strain dying awed the air,
  With steadfast eyes I saw thee in the choir 50
  Of ever-enduring men.  The truly Great
  Have all one age, and from one visible space
  Shed influence:  for they, both power and act,
  Are permanent, and Time is not with them,
  Save as it worketh for them, they in it. 55
  Nor less a sacred Roll, than those of old,
  And to be plac’d, as they, with gradual fame
  Among the Archives of Mankind, thy Work
  Makes audible a linked Song of Truth,
  Of Truth profound a sweet continuous Song 60
  Not learnt, but native, her own natural notes! 
  Dear shall it be to every human heart,
  To me how more than dearest!  Me, on whom
  Comfort from thee, and utterance of thy Love,
  Come with such Heights and Depths of Harmony 65
  Such sense of Wings uplifting, that its might
  Scatter’d and quell’d me, till my Thoughts became
  A bodily Tumult; and thy faithful Hopes,
  Thy Hopes of me, dear Friend! by me unfelt! 
  Were troublous to me, almost as a Voice 70
  Familiar once and more than musical;
  As a dear Woman’s Voice to one cast forth, [A]
  A Wanderer with a worn-out heart forlorn,
  Mid Strangers pining with untended wounds.

  O Friend! too well thou know’st, of what sad years 75
  The long suppression had benumbed my soul,
  That, even as Life returns upon the Drown’d,
  The unusual Joy awoke a throng of Pains—­
  Keen Pangs of LOVE, awakening, as a Babe,
  Turbulent, with an outcry in the Heart! 80
  And Fears self-will’d, that shunn’d the eye of Hope,
  And Hope, that scarce would know itself from Fear;
  Sense of past youth, and manhood come in vain,
  And Genius given and Knowledge won in vain;
  And all, which I had cull’d in wood-walks wild, 85
  And all, which patient Toil had rear’d, and all,
  Commune with THEE had open’d out—­but Flowers
  Strew’d on my Corse, and borne upon my Bier,
  In the same Coffin, for the self-same Grave!

  That way no more! and ill beseems it me, 90
  Who came a Welcomer, in Herald’s Guise,
  Singing of Glory and Futurity,
  To wander back on such unhealthful road
  Plucking the Poisons of Self-harm!  And ill
  Such intertwine beseems triumphal wreaths 95
  Strew’d before thy advancing!  Thou too, Friend! 
  Impair thou not the memory of that hour
  Of thy Communion with my nobler mind
  By pity or grief, already felt too long! 
  Nor let my words import more blame than needs. 100
  The tumult rose and ceas’d:  for Peace is nigh
  Where Wisdom’s voice has found a list’ning Heart. 
  Amid the howl of more than wintry storms
  The Halcyon hears the Voice of vernal Hours,
  Already on the wing!