Canto XL
Thy spirit ere our fatal lossDid ever rise from high to higher;As mounts the heavenward altar-fire,As flies the lighter thro’ the gross.
But thou art turn’d to something strange,And I have lost the links that boundThy changes; here upon the ground;No more partaker of thy change.
Deep folly! yet that this could be—That I could wing my will with mightTo leap the grades of life and light,And flash at once, my friend, to thee:
For though my nature rarely yieldsTo that vague fear implied in death;Nor shudders at the gulfs beneath,The howlings from forgotten fields;
Yet oft when sundown skirts the moorAn inner trouble I behold,A spectral doubt which makes me cold,That I shall be thy mate no more,
Tho’ following with an upward mindThe wonders that have come to thee,Thro’ all the secular to be,But evermore a life behind.