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Alfred Lord Tennyson - In Memoriam A. H. H.: 99
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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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