Canto LXXVIII
If any vague desire should rise,That holy Death ere Arthur diedHad moved me kindly from his side,And dropt the dust on tearless eyes;
Then fancy shapes, as fancy can,The grief my loss in him had wrought,A grief as deep as life or thought,But stay’d in peace with God and man.
I make a picture in the brain;I hear the sentence that he speaks;He bears the burthen of the weeks,But turns his burthen into gain.
His credit thus shall set me free;And, influence-rich to soothe and save,Unused example from the grave,Reach out dead hands to comfort me.