III

Doth o’er us pass, when, as th’ expanding eye To the loved object⁠—so the tear to the lid Will start, which lately slept in apathy? And yet it need not be⁠—(that object) hid From us in life⁠—but common⁠—which doth lie Each hour before us⁠—but then only bid With a strange sound, as of a harp-string broken T’ awake us⁠—’Tis a symbol and a token⁠—