Do I hear her sing as of old,
   My bird with the shining head,
My own dove with the tender eye? 
But there rings on a sudden a passionate cry—­
   There is some one dying or dead;
And a sullen thunder is rolled;
   For a tumult shakes the city,
   And I wake—­my dream is fled;
In the shuddering dawn, behold,
   Without knowledge, without pity,
   By the curtains of my bed
That abiding phantom cold!

Get thee hence, nor come again! 
   Mix not memory with doubt,
Pass, thou deathlike type of pain,
   Pass and cease to move about! 
’T is the blot upon the brain
That will show itself without.

Then I rise; the eave-drops fall,
   And the yellow vapors choke
The great city sounding wide;
The day comes—­a dull red ball
   Wrapt in drifts of lurid smoke
On the misty river-tide.

Through the hubbub of the market
   I steal, a wasted frame;
It crosses here, it crosses there,
Through all that crowd confused and loud
   The shadow still the same;
And on my heavy eyelids
   My anguish hangs like shame.

Alas for her that met me,
   That heard me softly call,
Came glimmering through the laurels
   At the quiet evenfall,
In the garden by the turrets
   Of the old manorial hall!

Would the happy spirit descend
   From the realms of light and song,
In the chamber or the street. 
   As she looks among the blest,
Should I fear to greet my friend
   Or to say “Forgive the wrong,”
Or to ask her, “Take me, sweet,
   To the regions of thy rest?”

But the broad light glares and beats,
And the shadow flits and Meets
   And will not let me be;
And I loathe the squares and streets,
And the faces that one meets,
   Hearts with no love for me;
Always I long to creep
Into some still cavern deep,
There to weep, and weep, and weep
   My whole soul out to thee.

ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON.

TOO LATE.

     “Dowglas, Dowglas, tendir and treu.”

Could ye come back to me, Douglas, Douglas,
   In the old likeness that I knew,
I would be so faithful, so loving, Douglas,
   Douglas, Douglas, tender and true.

Never a scornful word should grieve ye,
   I ’d smile on ye sweet as the angels do;
Sweet as your smile on me shone ever,
   Douglas, Douglas, tender and true.

Oh, to call back the days that are not! 
   My eyes were blinded, your words were few: 
Do you know the truth now, up in heaven,
   Douglas, Douglas, tender and true?

I never was worthy of you, Douglas;
   Not half worthy the like of you: 
Now all men beside seem to me like shadows—­
   I love you, Douglas, tender and true.

Stretch out your hand to me, Douglas, Douglas,
   Drop forgiveness from heaven like dew;
As I lay my heart on your dead heart, Douglas,
   Douglas, Douglas, tender and true!