Page:In memoriam (IA inmemoriam00tennrich).pdf/136

 What time mine own might also flee, As link'd with thine in love and fate, And, hovering o’er the dolorous strait To the other shore, involved in thee,

Arrive at last the blessed goal, And he that died in Holy Land Would reach us out the shining hand, And take us as a single soul.

What reed was that on which I leant? Ah, backward fancy, wherefore wake The old bitterness again, and break The low beginnings of content.