Analysis of Thought Of Ph---a At News Of Her Death

NOT a line of her writing have I,
        Not a thread of her hair,
     No mark of her late time as dame in her dwelling, whereby
        I may picture her there;
        And in vain do I urge my unsight
        To conceive my lost prize
     At her close, whom I knew when her dreams were upbrimming with light,
        And with laughter her eyes.

What scenes spread around her last days,
        Sad, shining, or dim?
     Did her gifts and compassions enray and enarch her sweet ways
        With an aureate nimb?
        Or did life-light decline from her years,
        And mischances control
     Her full day-star; unease, or regret, or forebodings, or fears
        Disennoble her soul?

Thus I do but the phantom retain
        Of the maiden of yore
     As my relic; yet haply the best of her--fined in my brain
        It may be the more
        That no line of her writing have I,
        Nor a thread of her hair,
     No mark of her late time as dame in her dwelling, whereby
        I may picture her there.