In Memoriam A.H.H.
rosy plumelets tuft the larch,
And rarely pipes the mounted thrush;
Or underneath the barren bush
by the sea-blue bird of March;
wear the form by which I know
Thy spirit in time among thy peers;
The hope of unaccomplish’d years
large and lucid round thy brow.
summer’s hourly-mellowing change
May breathe, with many roses sweet,
Upon the thousand waves of wheat,
ripple round the lonely grange;
not in watches of the night,
But where the sunbeam broodeth warm,
Come, beauteous in thine after form,
like a finer light in light.
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