_To Arthur Chamberlain._
But all that now is over.
Dreamers of dreams shall not in me discover
Fallen remembrances of Holy Land;
Looks in mine eyes, that seem to understand
A banished secret; in my common mien,
A charmed communion with high things unseen
For all that now is over.
Mere merchant of earth's market-place, no lover,
I keep the dusty, trodden road of all.
Though broken echoes fill the mart, and call
Back to my silent memories: down chill air
They die away, and leave me to my care.
Since all that now is over,
And not at any cost can I recover
The abdicated throne, the abandoned crown:
I sit me at the heart of the vast town,
To wear old love looks down to the dull look,
Befitting love unthought on, or forsook.
1887.