(In Memoriam.)They trod the streets and squares where now I tread,
With weary hearts, a little while ago;
When, thin and grey, the melancholy
Clung to the leafless branches overhead;
Or when the smoke-veiled sky grew
In autumn; with a re-arisen
Wrestled, what time the passionate spring winds blow;
And paced scorched stones in summer:—they are dead.
The sorrow of their souls to them did
As real as mine to me, as permanent.
To-day, it is the shadow of a dream,
The half-forgotten breath of breezes spent.
So shall another soothe his woe supreme—"No more he comes, who this way came and went."
