Page:Maud, and other poems.djvu/105

Rh Ripples on in light and shadow To the ballad that she sings.

Do I hear her sing as of old, My bird with the shining head, My own dove with the tender eye? But there rings on a sudden a passionate cry, There is some one dying or dead, And a sullen thunder is roll'd; For a tumult shakes the city, And I wake, my dream is fled; In the shuddering dawn, behold, Without knowledge, without pity, By the curtains of my bed That abiding phantom cold.

Get thee hence, nor come again, Mix not memory with doubt,