In Memoriam A.H.H.
in the down I sink my head,
Sleep, Death’s twin-brother, times my breath;
Sleep, Death’s twin-brother, knows not Death,
can I dream of thee as dead:
walk as ere I walk’d forlorn,
When all our path was fresh with dew,
And all the bugle breezes blew
to the breaking morn.
what is this? I turn about,
I find a trouble in thine eye,
Which makes me sad I know not why,
can my dream resolve the doubt:
ere the lark hath left the lea
I wake, and I discern the truth;
It is the trouble of my youth
foolish sleep transfers to thee.
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