⁠A late-lost form that sleep reveals,
⁠And moves his doubtful arms, and feels
Her place is empty, fall like these;

Which weep a loss for ever new,
⁠A void where heart on heart reposed;
⁠And, where warm hands have prest and closed,
Silence, till I be silent too.

Which weep the comrade of my choice,
⁠An awful thought, a life removed,
⁠The human-hearted man I loved,
A spirit, not a breathing voice.

Come Time, and teach me many years
⁠I do not suffer in a dream;
⁠For now so strange do these things seem,
Mine eyes have leisure for their tears;