Chapter 10 No.10

Not thee, O never thee, in all time's changes,

Not thee, but this the sound of thy sad soul,

The shadow of thy swift spirit, this shut scroll

I lay my hand on, and not death estranges

My spirit from communion of thy song-

These memories and these melodies that throng

Veiled porches of a Muse funereal-

These I salute, these touch, these clasp and fold

As though a hand were in my hand to hold,

Or through mine ears a mourning musical

Of many mourners rolled.