The Golden Treasury | ||
249
CLXXXII
THE AFTERNOTE OF THE HOUR
The hour had struck, but still the air was fill'd
With the long sequence of that mighty tone;
A wild Aeolian afternote, that thrill'd
My spirit, as I kiss'd that dear headstone;
A voice that seem'd through all the Past to go—
From the bell's mouth the lonely cadence swept,
Like the faint cry of unassisted woe,
Till, in my profitless despair, I wept;
My hope seem'd wreck'd! but soon I ceased to mourn;
A nobler meaning in that voice I found,
Whose scope lay far beyond that burial-ground;
'Twas grief, but grief to distant glory bound!
Faith took the helm of that sweet wandering sound,
And turn'd it heavenwards, to its proper bourne.
C. Tennyson-Turner
The Golden Treasury | ||