Awakened from a dizzy swoon,
   I felt appalling fears
   With ringings in my ears,
And wondered why the glaring moon
   Swung round the dome of night
   With such stupendous might. 
Next came, like the sweet air of June,
   A treacherous calm suspense
   That bred a loathly sense,
Some nameless ill would overwhelm us soon.

She passed like summer flowers away. 
   Her aspect and her voice
   Will never more rejoice,
For she lies hushed in cold decay. 
   Broken the golden bowl
   Which held her hallowed soul: 
It was an idle boast to say
   “Our souls are as the same,”
   And stings me now to shame: 
Her spirit went, and mine did not obey.

The black truth, with a fiery dart,
   Went hurtling through my thought,
   When I beheld her brought
Whence she with life did not depart. 
   Her beauty by degrees
   Sank, sharpened from disease: 
The heavy sinking at her heart
   Sucked hollows in her cheek,
   And made her eyelids weak,
Though oft they opened wide with sudden start.

The Deathly Power in silence drew
   My Lady’s life away. 
   I watched, dumb for dismay,
The shock of thrills that quivered through
   Her wasted frame, and shook
   The meaning in her look,
As near, more near, the moment grew. 
   O horrible suspense! 
   O giddy impotence! 
I saw her features lax, and change their hue.

Her gaze, grown large with fate, was cast
   Where my mute agonies
   Made sadder her sad eyes: 
Her breath caught with short plucks and fast,
   Then one hot choking strain;
   She never breathed again. 
I had the look which was her last: 
   Her love, when breath was gone,
   One moment lingering shone,
Then slowly closed, and hope for ever passed.

A dreadful tremour ran through space
   When first the mournful toll
   Rang for My Lady’s soul. 
The shining world was hell; her grace
   Only the flattering gleam
   And mockery of a dream: 
Oblivion struck me like a mace,
   And as a tree that’s hewn
   I dropped, in a dead swoon,
And lay a long time cold upon my face.

Earth had one quarter turned before
   My miserable fate
   Pressed down with its whole weight. 
My sense came back; and shivering o’er
   I felt a pain to bear
   The sun’s keen cruel glare,
Which shone not warm as heretofore;
   And never more its rays
   Will satisfy my gaze: 
No more; no more; O, never any more.

II.  DAY DREAM.

What art thou whispering lowly to thy babe,
O wan girl-mother, with Madonna lids
Downcast?  Why pressest thou so close his pale
Geranium cheek to thy yet whiter breast? 
Ah, doubtless sweet; to feel him draw the stream
That fills with strength his lily limbs!  And laughs
Thine own heart with his deeply dimpled laughter,
Answering straight thy dainty finger’s touch? 
And understandeth he that murmurous moan,
Wherewith thou hushest, patting him to rest?