When She Had Passed, It Seemed Like

The Atmosphere Breathes Rest And Comfort, And The Many Chambers Seem Full Of Welcomes.

Fame Grows Like A Tree If It Have The Principle Of Growth In It; The Accumulated Dews Of Ages Freshen Its Leaves.

Such Was The Wreck Of The Hesperus, In The Midnight And The Snow! Christ Save Us All From A Death Like This, On The Reef Of Norman's Woe!

The Lowest Ebb Is The Turn Of The Tide.

Out Of The Bosom Of The Air, Out Of The Cloud-folds Of Her Garments Shaken, Over The Woodlands Brown And Bare, Over The Harvest-fields Forsaken, Silent, And Soft, And Slow Descends The Snow.