Page:In memoriam (IA inmemoriam00tennrich).pdf/160

 And mine in his was wound, and whirl'd About empyreal heights of thought, And came on that which is, and caught The deep pulsations of the world,

Æonian music measuring out The steps of Time—the shocks of Chance— The blows of Death. At length my trance Was cancell'd, stricken thro' with doubt.

Vague words! but ah, how hard to frame In matter-moulded forms of speech, Or ev'n for intellect to reach Thro' memory that which I became:

Till now the doubtful dusk reveal'd The knolls once more where, couch'd at ease, The white kine glimmer'd, and the trees Laid their dark arms about the field:

And suck'd from out the distant gloom A breeze began to tremble o'er The large leaves of the sycamore, And fluctuate all the still perfume;