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In Memoriam A.H.H.

         
            LXX.
             
      I cannot see the features right,
          When on the gloom I strive to paint
          The face I know; the hues are faint
      And mix with hollow masks of night;

      Cloud-towers by ghostly masons wrought,
          A gulf that ever shuts and gapes,
          A hand that points, and palled shapes
      In shadowy thoroughfares of thought;

      And crowds that stream from yawning doors,
          And shoals of pucker’d faces drive;
          Dark bulks that tumble half alive,
      And lazy lengths on boundless shores;

      Till all at once beyond the will
          I hear a wizard music roll,
          And thro’ a lattice on the soul
      Looks thy fair face and makes it still.
       


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