In Memoriam A. H. H.: 99. Risest Thou Thus, Dim Dawn, Again

Risest thou thus, dim dawn, again,
       So loud with voices of the birds,
       So thick with lowings of the herds,
   Day, when I lost the flower of men;
   Who tremblest thro’ thy darkling red
       On yon swoll’n brook that bubbles fast
       By meadows breathing of the past,
   And woodlands holy to the dead;
   Who murmurest in the foliaged eaves
      A song that slights the coming care,
      And Autumn laying here and there
  A fiery finger on the leaves;
  Who wakenest with thy balmy breath
      To myriads on the genial earth,
      Memories of bridal, or of birth,
  And unto myriads more, of death.
  O wheresoever those may be,
      Betwixt the slumber of the poles,
      To-day they count as kindred souls;
  They know me not, but mourn with me.
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