Page:Poetical Remains.pdf/252

220

Such power is thine!—they come, the dead, From the grave's bondage free, And smiling back the changed are led, To look in love on thee; And voices that are music flown Speak to me in the heart's full tone.

Till crowding thoughts my soul oppress, The thoughts of happier years, And a vain gush of tenderness O'erflows in child-like tears; A passion which I may not stay, A sudden fount that must have way.

But thou, the while—oh! almost strange, Mine imaged self! it seems That on thy brow of peace no change Reflects my own swift dreams; Almost I marvel not to trace Those lights and shadows in thy face.