I caught a passing glimpse above my head
Of Summer's coronet, pale and tender blue, —
And memory ran my spirit thro' and thro',
Recalling with his piercing lance-point red
Summers and flowery seasons mute and dead,
Long since despatched and hidden from mortal view:
Recalling the sweet sense of evening dew,
And sweeter sense of Love's low whispers said.

It all has vanished, and I add my wailing
To myriads seated by the hollow tomb,
Leaning cold foreheads on its dismal railing:
I mourn the utter overthrow of bloom,
And spirit after tortured spirit sailing
Towards Death's black impenetrable gloom.