Dear! since they laid thee underneath the snow

But one brief year with all its days hath past.

Methought its hurrying moments flew too fast:

I would have had them lingering, move more slow;

For of the past one happy thing I know,

That thou wert of it; but these swift days flee,

And bear me to a future void of thee.

Yet still I feel that ever as I go

I know thee better, and I love thee more.

As one withdraws from a tall mountain's base

To see its summit, bright, remote and high,

So hath my heart through distance learnt its lore,

The knowledge of thy soul's most secret grace—

Those silent heights that lose themselves in sky.