London Poets

(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."