Page:Carroll - Phantasmagoria and other poems (1869).djvu/165

Rh I dare not weep: I can but bless The Love that pitied my distress, And lent me, in life's wilderness, So sweet and true a friend.

But if there be—O if there be A truth in what they say, That angel-forms we cannot see Go with us on our way; Then surely she is with me here, I dimly feel her spirit near— The morning mists grow thin and clear, And Death brings in the Day.