In Memoriam A. H. H.: 99. Risest thou thus, dim dawn, again

Risest thou thus, dim dawn, again,
        So loud with voices of the birds,
        So thick with lowings of the herds,
    Day, when I lost the flower of men;
    Who tremblest thro' thy darkling red
        On yon swoll'n brook that bubbles fast
        By meadows breathing of the past,
    And woodlands holy to the dead;
    Who murmurest in the foliaged eaves
       A song that slights the coming care,
       And Autumn laying here and there
   A fiery finger on the leaves;

   Who wakenest with thy balmy breath
       To myriads on the genial earth,
       Memories of bridal, or of birth,
   And unto myriads more, of death.

   O wheresoever those may be,
       Betwixt the slumber of the poles,
       To-day they count as kindred souls;
   They know me not, but mourn with me.