And out again I curve and flow To join the brimming river, For men may come and men may go, Yes, men may come and go; and these are gone, Of Brunelleschi; sleeps in peace and he, I scraped the lichen from it: Katie walks By the long wash of Australasian seas Far off, and holds her head to other stars, So Lawrence Aylmer, seated on a stile In the long hedge, and rolling in his mind A tonsured head in middle age forlorn, Mused, and was mute. On a sudden a low breath Of tender air made tremble in the hedge In gloss and hue the chestnut, when the shell Then, wondering, ask'd her Are you from the What do they call you?'- 'Katie.' That were strange. What surname ?'. -Willows.'-'No!'-'That is my name.' 'Indeed!' and here he look'd so self-perplext, That Katie laugh'd, and laughing blush'd, till he Who feels a glimmering strangeness in his dream. Then looking at her; Too happy, fresh and fair, Too fresh and fair in our sad world's best bloom, To be the ghost of one who bore your name About these meadows, twenty years ago.' 'Have you not heard?' said Katie, ‘we came back. We bought the farm we tenanted before. Am I so like her? so they said on board. Sir, if you knew her in her English days, My mother, as it seems you did, the days But she you will be welcome — O, come in!' |