LXVII.

A thing all heavenly!--clear’d from that which hung As a dim cloud between us, heart and mind! Loosed from the fear, the grief, whose tendrils flung A chain so darkly with its growth entwined. This is my hope!--though when the sunset fades, When forests rock the midnight on their shades, When tones of wail are in the rising wind, Across my spirit some faint doubt may sigh; For the strong hours _will_ sway this frail mortality!