Page:Poems and ballads (IA poemsballads00swinrich).pdf/174

 Shall never smile and turn and rest On mine as there, Nor one most sacred hand be prest Upon my hair.

I came as one whose thoughts half linger, Half run before; The youngest to the oldest singer That England bore.

I found him whom I shall not find Till all grief end, In holiest age our mightiest mind, Father and friend.

But thou, if anything endure, If hope there be, O spirit that man’s life left pure, Man’s death set free,

Not with disdain of days that were Look earthward now; Let dreams revive the reverend hair, The imperial brow;

Come back in sleep, for in the life Where thou art not We find none like thee. Time and strife And the world’s lot